Restrictive Covenants
by Shiv5468
Summary: Snape is still Headmaster. The Ministry wants him out. Hermione is sent to negotiate. PWP
1. Chapter 1

Co-written with Warded Portal

When Snape had realised that he wasn't dead, and that he wasn't going to die, he'd had two thoughts on his mind: to get absolutely ragingly, gloriously drunk, and then to get laid.

In the confusion that followed the battle at Hogwarts, he had managed to stagger into St Mungo's and get the necessary treatment for snakebite. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and they assumed he had been injured defending the children.

He had been, close enough, but he knew that once the story came out of how he had nearly met his end, his welcome would quickly cool, there would be an Auror on the door, and the only kisses he would get would be from a Dementor.

He had stared at the ceiling and contemplated his future. There would be no effort spared to track him down, even if he left the country, and even ceasing to use magic would only protect him for a while. And, really, what was the point? He may not have any friends, the last year had seen to that, but he still shrank from a life lived on his own.

So, he had decided to take his chances with a court case, hope the Old Bastard had had something in mind to secure his freedom, but before that, just in case, he would see to the getting drunk and the getting laid. He'd been saving himself for some dream of Lily Evans all his life, it felt, and it was time to let that go.

Ordinarily, drinking and extremes of sexual performance did not go hand in hand. Ordinarily, was not a rule that applied to potions masters. This hadn't occurred to the sharp-eyed Madam with whom he'd bargained for a week's debauch for the princely sum of 100 galleons.

She'd had visions of him passing out after the first hour in a drunken stupor, and her expression had grown increasingly pinched as he had drunk his way through bottle after bottle of wine and still managed to tup. He'd worked his way through all of the girls, and had been contemplating taking on two at a time to liven up proceedings when his orgy had been brought to a clattering halt.

He'd been sprawled on the bed, sucking on a bottle of inferior red, whilst a whore was sucking on him, Lucius had walked in, trailing the Madam behind him. The whore had jumped, her teeth had closed around his cock, and Severus had squealed in agony. He hadn't intended to wade in the deeper waters of pain as pleasure, and that had bloody hurt.

"You bastard," he said to Lucius. "I could have been killed. Haven't you heard of knocking?" It would have been just his luck to survive the Dark Lord only to be finished off by an involuntary cock amputation.

"I'm sorry, sir, but he would insist." The madam plucked at Lucius' sleeve, trying to persuade him to leave the room.

He shook her off, with a poisonous glare. "Out!" he hissed. "Both of you, now!"

The women went, the tart not even stopping to gather up her clothes, what few of them there were.

"Merlin, it stinks in here." Lucius strode over to the curtains, flung them apart, and opened the window. Severus didn't think it improved the atmosphere, but Lucius didn't look like a man interested in debate.

"It's a brothel," he replied, and pulled the sheet over his much-abused cock. "I wasn't paying for the ambiance."

"What the hell are you thinking?"

"I should think that's fairly obvious," Severus said sourly. "The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast and all that."

Lucius sat down on the edge of the bed, and Severus pulled the sheet tighter to him. Lucius was a married man, but there were rumours... Mind you, there were rumours about him as well, and he knew they weren't true. Or hadn't been.

Lucius frowned at him. "Do you mean they didn't explain...?"

"What? I've got a full pardon?" Severus felt something odd move in his stomach, which he thought might be hope, though he hadn't felt that for a long time.

"Don't be an arse. I meant about being Headmaster?"

"I'm not Headmaster now." Severus blinked. "Er, am I?"

"Of course you are. Didn't you read the bloody contract?" Lucius glared at him, making him feel like an ickle firstie under the gaze of a prefect, yet again. "Never mind, we have to get you back to the school, and then I can explain it all to you. Where are your clothes?"

"Er, there." Severus waved a hand to the shabby chair in the corner. "How am I still Headmaster?"

"De bene gesserit," Lucius replied. "Ringing any bells?"

"Fuck." Severus sat bolt upright, releasing his death grip on the sheet, as a loud carillon rang in his head. "Fuck, and fuck again. Oh fucking fuck fuck fuck."

"I see the knut has dropped at last." Lucius summoned Severus' clothes with a negligent wave of his hand.

"Fuck," said Severus, as his trousers hit him squarely in the face. "Was that strictly necessary?"

"I've just saved you from a lifetime in Azkaban. I should bloody say it is." And then Lucius grinned like a fox that's seen a particularly juicy pheasant. "How the Ministry is going to scream about this."

It was difficult to dress and Floo at the same time, but Severus had managed it, though he kept up a constant stream of bad language while he did so. It was unfortunate that Minerva was in the Headmaster's office when he and Lucius came bursting out of the fire, and even more unfortunate that he hadn't managed to tuck away all of his person before he had arrived.

She let out a screech that would have made a banshee envious. "You! You're dead! What are you doing here?"

"I should think that's obvious, Minerva," Severus said, as smoothly as someone can who is still arranging his clothing. "I am Headmaster, after all, and there is much to be done."

"You... I... What..." she said.

"Don't you have something important to do?" Severus moved towards her and she gave way before him.

"Well, there are the repairs to see to," she replied, old habits making her answer him as if he had a right to know.

"Quite so." Another couple of steps saw her next to the door.

"Though I don't see what he's doing here." Minerva glared at Lucius who was smiling at the scene being played out before him.

"Oh, he's here about Draco's schooling."

"I hope he doesn't expect that Draco will be able to return here." Minerva pursed her lips, entirely distracted by the prospect of having the near-assassin of the previous but one Headmaster back at the school.

"Obviously not," Lucius put in, determined to soothe the flames of controversy. "Which is why Severus is going to advise me on alternative schooling methods."

"Humph," Minerva said, then turned on her heel to leave, slamming the door behind her.

"That went well," Lucius remarked, settling down in the wide chair behind the Headmaster's desk. "Bearing in mind you were gibbering."

"That was just shock." Severus stared pointedly at Lucius, who didn't move.

"Yours, or hers?"

"It'd take more than Minerva McGonagall to face me down," Severus replied. "Now explain about this damned contract."

"When the school was founded, the Ministry started poking its nose in – as the Ministry does – and this was resented somewhat. After a couple of years of forceful argument, a settlement was reached – the Headmaster cannot be removed from his post by the Ministry unless he has committed an offence serious enough to get him imprisoned in Azkaban. Until he does, the story goes, the very walls of Hogwarts are bound to protect him."

There was a murmur from the portraits on the walls, and venerable heads nodded in agreement.

"There is the small difficulty of the method of accession to your current position, but I don't think that's insuperable." Lucius finally rose from his seat, and patted him on the shoulder. "Trust me."

Minerva was a formidable woman, who recovered her senses barely five minutes after being bullied from the Headmaster's – from her – office, and ten minutes later she had sent a message to Kingsley telling him about the resurrection of Severus Snape.

Kingsley had a lot to do, so it was a week before two Aurors turned up to investigate.

They didn't even make it to the Headmaster's office; the staircases turned against them.

The next group of Aurors didn't even make it past the front gate, which closed against them and wouldn't let them pass, even as they protested that they had warrants.

The Ministry might be stupid, but it was persistent, and was not to be denied. The Headmaster might be protected, but he was not invulnerable – a request for a meeting, duly signed, sealed and delivered had to be honoured.

One was received, arrangements made, and a month after the fall of Voldemort, Percy Weasley and assistant entered the school as the duly appointed representative of the Ministry to discuss staffing issues.

They were shown to the Headmaster's office, and greeted by a sardonically smiling Snape who had found that having Hogwarts on his side had made life rather more fun than it had been for some time. He didn't want to stay in the blessed job, and there was nothing as much fun as some quiet blackmail.

"Weasley," he said. "And Miss Granger. How nice of you to call."

"Professor," Weasley replied.

"Headmaster," said Miss Granger. She looked a lot older than when he had last seen her, crossing the line from teenager to woman very effectively. With her hair up in a bun, she was clearly trying to look sensible and mature. What she looked like was a woman who needed to be let loose.

Weasley stared at her for a second. "I'm sure you know why we're here, Headmaster."

"I imagine you want to discuss the outstanding repairs to the school." Professor Snape drew a leather folder towards him, and opened it with a flourish. "This is what I have itemised so far."

Percy made no move to pick up the piece of paper. "It's more a matter of your appointment, Headmaster."

"It's my understanding that Headmaster is a position for life," he replied, and arched an eyebrow as if he were enquiring as to the whereabouts of some missing homework.

"If," Percy said, laying heaving stress on the syllable, "the appointment were valid in the first place. Your actions in bringing about the death of Albus Dumbledore – though understandable in the circumstances – are such that..."

"They happened before my appointment, and therefore are irrelevant." Snape's smile broadened. "In fact, you could argue that they had been endorsed by the Ministry simply by the appointment. Certainly, it doesn't allow you to overturn the appointment."

Percy, a veteran of Ministry meetings, didn't gape., but tried another tack. "Surely you don't want to spend your time at Hogwarts."

Snape shrugged. "Not especially, but I doubt I would like the alternatives on offer."

"I'm sure something could be arranged." Percy tried to look Important, merely achieving Constipated.

"When it is, let me know." Snape pushed the paper over to Weasley again, who took it as a sign to leave, tucking it into his briefcase.

Having tried persuasion, the Ministry tried scandal.

The report of his sojourn in the brothel was splashed across page three of the Daily Prophet – the lurid details were too saucy for the front page – including a breathless report from someone (under strict conditions of anonymity, with a picture of a dark silhouette instead of a person by the side) as to his stamina.

The only effect this had was to generate a lot of letters to the Prophet about his antics, and a fair few to Severus himself asking for his company for the evening, and some very open-eyed looks from the students when school started.

It also brought three Slytherin sixth formers to his office late at night – at the same time – to make an interesting offer. After they spent six weeks in detention, the news spread quickly that he wasn't interested.

Hermione looked at him over the top of her teacup. She'd decided that he couldn't intimidate her. She was a Ministry official doing her job. And her job, most days, was to be showered with abuse. She'd survived his Potions class. This couldn't be much different.

"I'm here to ask for your resignation."

Snape made no move towards his own teacup, but assessed her coolly, looking for weaknesses. "Are you indeed? I have to wonder at the Ministry's tactics - do they think my heart will be softened by a pretty woman?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "There's no need for insults, Headmaster. I know I'm unwanted here." She took a sip from her tea and licked her lips. "Simply put, your previous alliance with the Ministry notwithstanding, you're damaged goods."

"I wouldn't dream of insulting a representative of such an august organ of government, and I certainly wouldn't insult a pretty woman." He tipped his head, eyes lingering on her mouth, and smiled. "And I think damaged is putting it a little strongly, don't you?"

"Please," she scoffed. "I think it's an accurate description. I think you're the lingering vestige of a dying body. You and your," she coughed conspicuously, "friends are no longer in vogue. It's time to go. Sir."

"Friends?" he said, and that one syllable carried a world of bitterness. "One, rather, who cared to find out what happened to me rather than leaving me to die on a cold, wooden floor. If I'm a lingering vestige at all, it's no thanks to you."

She sat forward in her chair, her cup clattering on its saucer. "Now, just a minute here. It isn't as if you didn't spontaneously ooze your memories onto the floor. How was I supposed to know a Legilimens could do that at will?"

"And it didn't occur to you to do something as simple as check my pulse, even send someone back to carry my corpse somewhere it could have a decent burial?" He rose to his feet, anger bringing him to life.

"Well, forgive me, sir, but it wasn't my decision to leave you there!" She caught herself shouting back and schooled her voice to a more level tone. "And even if it was my decision, what the hell am I supposed to say at headquarters? 'Oh look what the cat dragged in!' You made yourself persona non grata. If you want to retain any shred of dignity, and judging by the Prophet, I'd say that was more of a wisp than anything, I'd suggest you take your leave now before they drag you down the front steps and into the waiting arms of a Dementor!"

"All this talk of kissing is giving me ideas." His eyes narrowed, hard as flint. "I'll tell you my price for a resignation - and it's just gone up." He moved round the desk, his robes flaring behind him. "I would have settled for a pardon, perhaps a little money to set me up in a new business, but now..." He leaned in, forcing her to retreat, sinking back into the chair. "Now, I want you as part of the deal."

"I-- What!?"

"You sit there with your smug air, as if you were any different to me, as if you were right and I were wrong, as if any of it matters to your lords and masters other than how big an embarrassment you are."

She looked up at him in complete confusion.

"Do you think they actually care? About anything? Other than themselves?"

Her cheeks flushed and she sputtered, completely at a loss for words, and as he watched, consternation unfolded into white hot fury. "At least I'm doing something worthwhile."

"Are you really? I doubt they let you within an inch of anything worthwhile. You have turned into nothing more than a Ministry toady, and I had expected better from you."

"And so you think I'll just do anything to get your signature, because ... I don't understand."

"It's quite simple. I've spent all my life doing what others want. Now I'm doing what I want. You sit there all flushed and angry and full of spirit that even the Ministry hasn't succeeded in knocking out of you, and I want that. I want you. And at least I'm giving you the courtesy of honesty, which is more than they will."

She was so incensed, she was shaking. But she couldn't look away. Couldn't have looked away from him if her very life had depended on it.

He drew back a little, eyes fixed on hers, and added, "Miss Granger, I would very much like you to suck my cock."

She snorted in disgust. "If that's your official answer, I'll be sure to put that in my report. Now if you'll excuse me," she stood, sliding passed him, very careful not to make any physical contact, "I'll just show myself out."

"You do that, Miss Granger. I'll expect your answer next week."

"Don't hold your breath, Headmaster."

"And when you get done with those files, you can go down to Research and bring me up all the files on the Bathmorton case. There are six of them."

"Six files?" Hermione called into the back office.

"No," Percy stuck his head out to correct her. "Six boxes."

"Don't you have a research assistant for all of this?"

He didn't answer. He didn't really have to. She knew his thoughts on the matter. She checked the time and cursed softly. Robert was just going to have to wait until she was done with this grudge work.

Robert Haley, son of a well-known Pureblood family, heir to his father's law practise, was a bit of a wet blanket, she'd decided. They'd gone on three dates, and even dancing once, though if that was what he considered dancing, she wasn't in a rush to get him in bed. He was, however, attentive. It was his one positive quality.

"So, hot mama, what do you say to a night on the town?"

"Robert, it's Thursday. Unlike some I still have work tomorrow."

"Oh. Right. Well. Erm. Dinner then?"

"Yeah, dinner sounds lovely. And a pint."

"No, not a pint for you, my sweet. A proper bottle of something fizzy and sweet."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She hated sweet and fizzy, even if it was alcoholic. Nevertheless, she let him order and she sipped her drink in the bar while he tried desperately to negotiate with the maitre'd for a table.

Snape would never have even noticed the boy had Lucius not pointed him out. "Do I know the Haleys?" he asked, surveying the eager young man attending to Granger. "He seems entirely forgettable."

"If his father hadn't taken him on, well..." Lucius shrugged elegantly, conveniently ignoring his own propensity to purchase favours for his son. "Not the sharpest wand in the sheath by any means."

"She must be bored rigid."

"You don't think that acquaintance with Potter would have accustomed her to puerile chatter?" Lucius arched an eyebrow.

"That was enlivened by people trying to kill them. It does tend to break up the tedium," Severus said wryly.

Lucius smiled in acknowledgement of the hit, though there was a hint of sharpness about the eyes. "Perhaps you should go over and talk to the girl. Break up the tedium. I'm sure you have lots to discuss about Hogwarts, and that would surely be preferable to another minute's conversation with the Haley boy. I sat next to him at dinner once; he talked business all evening long, and preferred the rosé to burgundy."

Snape found the idea of ruining Hermione Granger's evening too enticing to pass up. Besides, he'd been taken with the way she flushed when he'd made his offer to resign.

Hermione wasn't one given to wool gathering, but when Snape appeared in the chair next to her, it was all she could do to stifle a squeak. "Fancy meeting you here, Headmaster."

"I see you have a gentleman friend in tow. Don't worry. I like the idea that you'd practise your skills before the final oral exam." He quirked an eyebrow at her, watching as she flushed all the way down her neck and across the top of her cleavage.

"Do you get off on being rude to people?" she snapped. "I've no intention of... you know..." She waved her hands. "With either of you."

"It's a recently discovered pleasure," he replied. "Now that I've the freedom to speak my mind, I do. You've no idea how refreshing it is at long last to be able to tell Ministry functionaries to sod off."

"That wasn't quite what you said to me."

"I was referring to the charming Percy."

Hermione said nothing to that. She had her own fervently held opinions on Percy Weasley, but she wasn't allowed to call her boss an incompetent control freak.

"Darling? Is your friend joining us for dinner? Because I only just got us a table for two?"

Hermione winced at the wet noodle that was her date's spine. "No, Robert. Professor Snape --"

"Haley. You were in my Advanced Potions, weren't you?" It wasn't a question.

Robert hemmed and hawed, like he'd just been called to account for three feet of parchment on the uses of Dragon's Blood, only discover he'd written it on Dragon's Hood instead. "Sir..."

"I thought so." He crooked a finger at the waiter. "I'd be only too happy to join you. If you'd convey my apologies to Mr. Malfoy, I've received a better offer for the evening."

Hermione watched the waiter traverse the bar to deliver his message with wide eyes. Lucius looked across the room at her, his glance coolly assessing her date, her hair, and her situation. He nodded at Severus with a look of amusement, then stood.

Robert's babble trying to explain that he was on a date with Hermione and didn't really want to share his table, perhaps another time was interrupted by Lucius. "I shall leave you to it, Severus. Don't keep him up too late, Miss Granger. He's barely convalescing, and should be in bed as soon as possible." Lucius' tone practically leered.

"Did you tell him...?" Hermione hissed, as soon as Lucius' back was turned, and Robert was safely engaged with making fresh arrangements.

"Not at all." Severus tilted his head on one side, eyes resting on her cleavage. "He just thinks I want under your robes tonight. It isn't a bad idea as ideas go."

"You're a right bastard, you know that?" She tugged her robes over the bare skin and glared at him. "Don't you have a brothel account to tend to your needs? Or is it Rita Skeeter you're banging, and she's making up the rest of that drivel to buoy your ego, hmm?"

Snape laughed, something short of a guffaw, but still full-blooded. "You mean the Ministry's feeble attempts to unseat me, so I can go straight to Azkaban? It was all true, though I..."

"I'm glad to see you're all getting on well," Robert said, interrupting. "That's nice but our table's ready."

He shot Hermione an imploring look, willing her to get rid of Snape, which she ignored. If he wasn't prepared to stand up for himself, Hermione wasn't going to step in. She'd had enough of that over the last eight years to last a lifetime.

It was Snape, though, who held out her chair so she could be seated. And it was Snape who vetoed Robert's first choice of wine, for another, marginally more expensive, but infinitely better bottle.

"So I gather you two, erm, work together? Or something?"

Snape opened his mouth to answer but Hermione beat him to the punch. "We're in the midst of contract negotiations. Ministry business. You understand." She glared at Snape.

"You suck all the joy out of it, Miss Granger. Make it sound like it's nothing more than a business transaction."

"Well, you'd be the expert on that sort of transaction, now. I've never had the need for such -- negotiations. Robert, would you pass the salt? Thank you."

"You seem to have this one well trained. Are you a cunning linguist as well, Robert?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you any good with foreign languages, is what he asked," Hermione said sharply.

"Oh, no, not really. I've never seemed to have the knack." Robert replied.

Hermione wanted to slap him for being so humble, and for completely missing the point.

"And as I recall his potion's technique wasn't up to much either," Severus murmured. "Not really much hope for you there either, Miss Granger."

Hermione choked on her wine. She found she couldn't look away from Snape's long, dexterous fingers. "Professor, I think you'd know by now, it's not the size of the stirring rod, it's the motion of the potion. And if I did, Merlin forfend, concede to your contract demands, I imagined you'd find yourself completely and utterly unable to fulfil your side of the bargain. And then really, the Ministry would be forced to see you removed from the position. Failure to perform, I believe the clause is."

"I assure you that I always meet my obligations," he replied. "In full. One way or another." He turned his hands, flexing his long fingers, watching the way her eyes were following his movements.

She looked up and flushed, knowing she'd been caught. She didn't dare look away from him now. The heat between them should have melted the tapers.

Poor Robert could only look back and forth between them. "Well, Professor, that's - erm - good to know. One should never shirk from one's obligations, wot? Did Mister Malfoy say when he'd -"

"Severus, in all seriousness, you served the Order with bravery and distinction. Back down now before you truly do end up in Azkaban. I'll bring you a contract you can sign without shame. The Ministry - " She paused to correct herself. "iI/i don't want to see you humiliated."

"Your help would be appreciated," he said, slowly and thoughtfully. "And yet I feel I should insist on the performance of all the contract. I want it all." His voice deepened, sounding rougher than usual.

She glared. Robert sat still as a bird caught between a hawk and a serpent. "In your dreams," she answered, her own voice lower than usual.

"Who wants espresso? Oh waiter!"

Snape stood, his chair scraping ominously. "I think I hear my mother calling," he drawled. He gathered his robes as Hermione watched him, her eyes filled with a fire he hadn't seen since her days at Hogwarts. He was dimly aware of Robert babbling something in his ear as he bent and took her hand, laying a chaste but warm kiss across the back of her knuckles. "Until next time, Miss Granger?"

She watched him go with narrowed eyes, wondering quite what he was up to.

"I didn't know you and Professor Snape were close," Robert said.

"We're not," she replied, still watching his black shape recede.

"You seemed awfully pally for someone who isn't close, and I'm not sure that you should really be friends with someone like that. He's not suitable."

"Oh Robert," Hermione said, with perfect calm. "Fuck off."

Robert just gaped at her, repeating his impression of a fish about to be gaffed.

"I'll talk to who I like. You'd only be entitled to an opinion if you'd actually done anything in the war against Voldemort, other than hiding in your daddy's office. And even then, I'd still tell you to fuck off. Professor Snape is rude, obnoxious and a complete bastard, and he's still worth ten of you!"

Hermione dabbed at her lips with the napkin, threw it down on the table, and stood up. "Don't bother calling," she said. "I'm going to be very busy over the next twenty years, and will be unavailable."

She left him with the bill. He could afford it; more than that, he deserved it.

Gossip doesn't need Owls to propagate round the Wizarding World. By the time Hermione had reached her flat, the news that she'd quarrelled with Robert had been whispered to the sister of the waiter, who told it to her mother, who passed it on to her best friend, until it circled round and made its way to the ear of Lucius Malfoy.

Who spared no time in passing the news on to Severus by owl.

SS

Apparently the Granger woman - you have noticed how nicely she's grown up - was defending your honour after you left last night.

I won't go so far as to say she's fond of you. She did call you obnoxious, after all. But you have an opportunity there. Don't squander it.

LM

He didn't hold his breath, but he did spend a great deal of time thinking about Hermione Granger in the following week. It made the sheer mind-sucking boredom of his routine pass a little quicker. It replaced irritating Minerva as his favourite activity.

He had no expectation of her saying yes, but it was such a delight to see her flustered. If he didn't know better, he'd say she'd been rather aroused by his rudeness. Apparently, Miss Goodie Two Shoes fancied the bad boys. It gave him much food for thought.

She arrived at the appointed time the next week, contracts in hand, quills at the ready. She even had a little lectern, charmed to unfold and display the contracts for his review. And she utterly refused to acknowledge his presence until the whole set up was exactly to her liking. She wouldn't even look at him. It was disconcerting.

While he waited, he banished the portraits to their alternate paintings, a right he was afforded as Headmaster. Some things demanded a bit of privacy.

"Go on. Read it. And don't even mention having Malfoy look it over. You're a smart boy. You can work it out for yourself." She took a seat beside the lectern, waiting for him to finish.

The papers were long, and detailed. He had his pardon, and an offer of money that was far more generous than he was expecting.

"Is this your doing?" he asked. "Shove in a few galleons and see if the old man will bite."

"I thought a more generous offer might help persuade you to be reasonable."

"Generous?" He flicked a finger at the pages dismissively.

"It's the best I could do under the circumstances. Percy was being a pig, and I can't see that changing short of a personality transplant."

"I'm not entirely au fait with all things Muggle, but I did think that if you wanted a transplant there had to be a personality there in the first place. Percy sold his soul to the Ministry when he joined them, and resigned himself to a life of dull, grey boredom."

Hermione sighed.

"I'm surprised to see you going the same way, taking up with that Haley boy."

"I'm not," she said. "Robert and I are no longer seeing each other."

"You can thank me for that later," he said, a vicious smirk on his lips.

She surprised him by laughing. "I suppose I should."

He turned over another couple of pages, reading the text carefully to make sure there were no traps. Hermione was watching him, and her gaze had almost a physical weight.

"I don't see any reference to the other terms I wanted fulfilled." He looked into her eyes, trying to gauge her reaction. "You do remember what I asked for, don't you?"

She answered so quickly, he knew she'd been waiting for the question. "Section four, paragraph nineteen. 'And such miscellaneous matters necessary to fulfil the intent of this contract as shall be agreed orally between the representative parties.' I think that about covers it, don't you?"

He stared at it, and wondered for a moment if he were back on the floor of the Shack, because in his experience, pretty girls didn't suck his cock. Pretty girls told him to bugger off and leave them alone, even if he did get his nerve up to talk to them.

"Yes," he said, and thanked Slytherin that his voice didn't crack. "I'd say so. Erm, if you're sure?"

She cocked her head at him, looking a bit put out. She looked around his office as if checking for another person, and then she fixed him with a hard stare. "What happened to the wizard who demanded the full execution of this contract? You know, the bastard who insulted my choice in men and then made my date wibble like an ickle firstie, hmm?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at her, and opened his mouth to speak.

She cut him off. "Because that's the man whose cock I'd like to suck. If it's all the same to you. Now, are you happy with the terms of the contract?"

She had the satisfaction of seeing his face blank for a moment, unsure of quite what was happening. The moment passed quickly and his smirk returned as he realised she was serious. His natural instinct to take advantage of any opportunity came to the fore. His cock formed a distinct hard line in his trousers, and was voting firmly in favour of taking anything and everything that was going.

He nodded, once, fixing her with an intent stare, the first person who had really looked at her in years and seen more than a polite, biddable bookworm.

"Turn around and drop trou. I'm a witch, not a fucking magician."

"Right." He put his hands to his teaching robes, as if to take them off, then stopped. He could play the role of bastard. It was hardly a role for him, he thought. "No, I think we'll leave these on, mmm?" He moved his hands to his fly, unbuttoning it with due care.

She beckoned him closer to where she sat, resting her hands on his wool covered thighs, her eyes growing wide as he undid each clasp, watching his prick stand up rampant and strong for her. She looked up into his face and licked her lips. The same heat she'd felt in the restaurant seared the air between them. Leaning forward, she breathed a puff of warm, wet air against his skin. His cock jerked at the stimulus, and again when she brushed her cheek against the shaft.

He could barely draw the breath to speak. "You're fucking gorgeous when you're angry, Miss Granger. You should do it more often, stop holding back because of what you think others might say or think." His expression softened, his eyes still glittering fiercely. "Let your hair down. I want to see your hair, feel it against my fingers."

Her cheeks flushed in the same way he remembered from the restaurant. "That's not in the contract. But if you like." She raised her hands to her head and released the charm that held her braid in check.

"Let me help." She nodded. He put a hand on her head, coaxing the hair out of the braid, and spreading it across his fingers. "It's soft," he murmured. "Lovely."

"You're still a bastard," she whispered, and then he felt her hand grasp the base of him with delightfully wicked intent.

"I am," he said, and the words turned into a long, low moan.

She brushed her cheek over the head, and then the wet warmth of her lips. A light pass at first and then he felt her grip encircle him and felt her downward tug, slow and relentless. She bent to her task, sucking the head past her lips and pressing him against the hard roof of her mouth. A distant part of her tried not to think about finally impressing the stoic Professor of her past. The very thought made her mouth water and something hot pulse between her legs.

"Fuck, that's..."

She smiled around him, moving her hand and mouth in counterpoint. Slowly, she thought. Make it last. Make it so good he'll forget his objections. He tasted like the sea, salt and spice, and musk that penetrated her nose. She'd still be able to smell him on her hands later. She knew that from experience. She pulled back to examine her handiwork, looking up at him as she played him over her lips.

His fingers tightened in her hair, but not enough to hurt. He was careful about that, wanting to experience this to the full, intent on enjoying this as long as he could.

She took him back in, humming now, going just a hair slower than his body wanted. Gods, he was so hard and thick. It was impossible not to imagine doing other things with his cock, and she moaned at the wicked thoughts running through her mind.

The sound was a revelation to Snape. She was enjoying this. The thought made him throb. He touched her cheek, bidding her look up at him and he thought he might come then and there from the look in her eyes. He cursed softly as she tormented him, wondering just what it was she was doing here, other than trying to suck his brains out through his cock.

He held her gaze and whispered the spell. "Legilimens." He half expected her to recoil in disgust at his presumption but, would wonders never cease, she didn't. In fact, he felt no barriers at all, slipping into her thoughts like a hot knife through butter.

The images she shared with him made him ache with arousal. His dark head between her thighs, lapping at her cunt until she came so hard she lost consciousness. Her bent over the Headmaster's desk, her skirts rucked up round her waist, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk, while he fucked her from behind. The two of them entwined in a passionate embrace, sharing a kiss that looked more intimate than any fuck.

He groaned again, entranced by the thought of doing all that and more, and she swallowed around him, making him gasp and grip the edge of the desk to keep his footing. She liked hearing him moan. He could see that clearly in her thoughts. She liked the control, and she was determined to make him wait so she could have that power, even if just for a moment longer.

"Hermione," he sighed.

Her other hand dipped between his thighs to cradle his balls, fondling them gently, her voice vibrating through him, ringing him like a bell. And then she was gripping him fiercely and sucking hard, trying to drive him to completion before she lost control and offered something she might regret.

He closed his eyes, shutting out her thoughts, and concentrating on the feel of her mouth and tongue, giving in to the building tension. He took deep breaths, panting as if he'd been running. Something small and bright broke within him, releasing its grip with an explosion. Pleasure so strong it almost hurt ripped through him.

She held on, trying not to restrict his instinctive need to thrust, easing him up and over the peak, and down the far side. She would never have confessed to enjoying the hot surge in the back of her throat, or the little whimpering sounds he made as he descended. His hands stroked and fretted in her hair as he shuddered above her.

When it seemed like there was nothing left, she wiped her mouth and tucked him back in his trousers. "I'll be having that contract now. If you don't mind." Her voice came out far more sultry than she ever intended.

His eyes fixed on her. He hadn't expected this, and he was damned sure she wasn't doing it for the good of the Ministry. He was lucky that his cock was still attached to him, let alone resting happily and sated in his underpants. And the images from her thoughts still ran hot in his forebrain. He had an idea and for a wild moment, he didn't want to analyse it too closely.

He stroked her hair again, and bent to take her hand. "The contract refers to all that is orally agreed." His lips twisted in another smirk as he drew her to her feet. "And I said I wanted you. Cock-sucking was the start, not the whole. I want you in all the ways I can think of - and I can think of quite a few. Not to mention how rude it would be not to reciprocate." Still gripping her fingers, he used his arm to sweep the scrolls and books off the end of his desk.

Her eyes went wide and her irises darkened, but she held tight to his hand. "The last time I checked it was illegal to traffic in souls, so just what did you think I was agreeing to?"

He turned and took her by the waist, meeting her intent gaze with his own mad grin. He lifted her and set her gently on the broad oak surface. "The Ministry has what it wants out of this deal, and I have what I want out of this deal, but surely you deserve something - a little side negotiation, perhaps. Some collateral benefits?" he said, dropping to his knees before her.

"Severus." Her voice twisted in a strange way that sent a jolt straight to his hindbrain. She was pleading, he realised. Pleading for him.

He moved his fingers under the hem of her robes, round her calves, the knee, and they came to rest on her thigh. He could feel the silk of her stockings. He used his other hand to flip her robes up, so they rested in her lap, baring her legs to mid-thigh. He was surprised to see she wore garters and thigh highs. "You'll have to move forward a little," he said. "Slide to me."

She did as instructed, shaking as he put her where he wanted. "I want to go on record as saying this is probably a monumentally bad idea."

"Compared to all the other risks we've taken?" He shrugged. "Perhaps we've developed a taste for danger. Don't you get bored at the Ministry?" He didn't wait for an answer, but moved his hands further under her skirts to hook into her knickers. A sharp tug, a lift of her hips, and they were down round her ankles. "Merlin, yes...", he hissed. She kicked them off, allowing him to part her legs further. He leaned forward, and drew in the scent of her arousal.

"Fuck." She gasped at the feel of his breath. And then in a rush, "I want to touch your hair." She reached a hand out but hesitated, waiting for his approval.

"If you want to," he said, surprised. He dipped his head down, his nose between her thighs, kissing first the left, then the right. She smelled like spiced honey and musk and it was going straight to his head.

"I do." She drew a finger along his temple, brushing his hair back from his eyes, letting it fall over her fingers. She made another pass, this time letting her fingertips follow his skull, gently but unmistakeably guiding him. She leaned back, lifting a knee to rest on his shoulder, baring herself to his gaze.

He stroked down the back of her thigh and she sighed, shivering at his touch. His breath ruffled her curls, and then his mouth was wet and hot against her pubis, his tongue tracing spirals across her skin.

She mewled when he reached her clit, a surprised sound followed by a louder, more incoherent cry when he began to suckle the swollen nub of flesh. She raised her other leg, encircling his shoulders and drawing him closer with her heels, her hips undulating beneath his mouth. Her hands kneaded at his hair.

She tasted like ambrosia, hot and slick against his mouth and he moaned, unabashed. The sound vibrated through her and she arched and tensed beneath him, straining towards that moment of perfection. His tongue flickered and moved, driving her up and up. He gripped her hips to hold her still, wanting to see her come completely undone under his mouth.

Her hand grabbed his wrist. "Fingers," she hissed. "Fuck me."

"Is it just my fingers you want, Hermione?" He pulled back, looking down on her delightfully dishevelled form.

She whimpered, shuddering as the cool air hit her heated flesh. He stood beside her, stroking his fingertips and his palm over her cunt, teasing her. "Don't you want more?" Her lips parted as he did just as she asked, sliding first one, then two fingers into her. "I know you do," he continued, his fingers moving backwards and forwards. "I saw your thoughts." She moaned, reaching up to catch his face in her hands and pulling him down into a searing kiss.

He kept up the motion of his fingers, increasing speed, sucking at her lips as she tensed around his hand. She let out one last shuddering exhalation and came hard as he pressed deep, her eyes closed, head back, mouth open, and hair flaring round her like some debauched woodland nymph. He held her tight, stroking her through the pinnacle, kissing her throat, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut for once.

It took a few moments for her head to clear, and the moment he took his hand away, she was pulling away from him, tugging her robes down, trying to cover her embarrassment as well as her modesty. "There," she huffed, "Are you satisfied now?"

"The question is, are you?" he asked, making no move to let her go. There was a heat and a hunger in his gaze that she recognised. He really wanted to know the answer to that question. She looked uncertain, then nodded.

He stepped back and offered her his hand. She looked at it, then allowed him to help her down from the desk.

"So, you'll sign, then?" she asked. "Now you've got what you wanted."

"Not yet."

She breathed in, a look of anger on her face. "You b..."

"I shall send it to my lawyers." Lucius' lawyers, actually. "And they will read it over to make sure that there are no traps for the unwary. I may trust your honesty, Hermione, but not the Ministry's."

She huffed, but didn't continue speaking.

"Provided there is nothing untoward, I shall sign." He drew his robes more closely around himself, wanting to cross his arms over his chest. "I wonder if you might like to collect it in person, say next week?"

Her eyes closed, with the same expression she wore in class before answering a difficult question. "And if I don't?"

He almost smiled at her bristling indignation, but that would be unwise. She didn't take well to being backed into a corner, and next time might not end so well. "Then I will send it to the Ministry by Owl."

"Oh." She smoothed down her unwrinkled robes, and looked round for her things, gathering them together by hand rather than summoning with her wand. It would always mark her as Muggleborn, that habit. Lily had been the same. "Right," she said.

"Good day, Miss Granger." He put out his hand.

"Erm, yes." She took it, falling back into formal patterns of behaviour automatically, as if he'd never had his fingers in her cunt, and shook it firmly.

She stepped to the door, and turned back to him. Her cheeks were rosy and flushed, her lips full, though he hadn't but briefly kissed them. She had the glow of a woman who'd been recently shagged, though they hadn't done that either. "And if I do come to collect the contracts next weekend?"

A whole host of possibilities sprang to mind, some of them her fantasies, and some of them definitely his, and all of them infinitely superior to anything else his life had offered to date.

She didn't move away when he bent his head to give her a kiss full of promise, and her hands came up to rest against his chest, on the cusp of pushing him away or twisting into his robes. "That, my dear, is entirely up to you," he said, knowing he had to allow her to make the next move. He might still have a habit of grasping for what he wanted recklessly, but he hoped it was tempered with a little more understanding.

She nodded, then slipped away without saying anything more, leaving Severus to sit at his desk to contemplate the possibilities it might afford on her next visit.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART TWO: Binding Agreements**

From the desk of Hermione Granger  
Special Assistant To The Minister of Magic  
RE: Contract issued xxth of May, xxxx

Headmaster

I am writing to enquire as to the final disposition of your termination contracts. I need to report whether or not you were satisfied with the terms, particularly the supplemental demands as outlined in Section Four, paragraph 19. I would also like to enquire as to whether or not you require my presence at the final signing. You had expressed an interest. (erased words)

If you would like to discuss further negotiations, I will be in Hogsmeade this weekend. If you would like to meet (erased words) over dinner, perhaps, I will be staying at the Crown & Cup, off the High Street.

I look forward to hearing from you.

H. Granger

To Hermione Granger

I was eminently satisfied with the terms. I would prefer your presence, if you are agreeable, and shall meet you as suggested.

Do you have any particular time in mind?

S. Snape.

Headmaster, pro tem

To Severus Snape, Headmaster, pro tem

Are you available Friday evening, say around 7?

H.Granger

PS. I understand Mr. Malfoy's lawyers were less than satisfied with the vague nature of Section 4, Paragraph 19. Ministry sources reported back to me that you were not forthcoming as to the nature of the "oral agreements", even though you assured them the terms of the contract were more than adequate. I can only say thank you for your discretion.

To H Granger

I shall be available then.

Mr Malfoy's lawyers, and indeed Mr Malfoy himself, can keep their noses out.

S Snape

Headmaster pro tem

To S

Before we meet, I had hoped we could clarify under which contract's terms and conditions we were (erased words) continuing to interact. You had mentioned collateral benefits on my behalf, though technically, I am neither beneficiary nor the final arbiter of terms.

To whit, I am only the messenger. (erased words - "What are we hoping to - on earth could you possibly want with me?")

Please advise.  
HG

To HG

I rather thought that we were moving on to negotiate another, new contract, solely for our benefit.

S

To S

(fresh clean unspoiled parchment with very carefully lettered handwriting)

So Friday, 7pm, Crown & Cup, Hogsmeade.

(large inkblot)

(much more hastily written) I've booked the room until Sunday.

H.

My dear Hermione

If I might anticipate to that extent…

That sounds ideal.

Severus

Hermione skived off early from work on Friday afternoon, and went back to her one room flat. She took off her dress robes and hung them in the wardrobe, pulling out a small leather backpack. She packed the bag with one black dress, a couple of changes of clothes, and a few toiletries. She eyed the Floo and then her wand, pondering her options. It was early yet. She needed to burn off some of the wild energy his last letter had sent coursing through her.

She changed into jeans and a Muggle t-shirt, and dug out her least offensive Weasley sweater. She could change when she got there. Right now, she needed a blast of cold air to clear her thoughts, and a broom ride to Hogsmeade only took a few hours.

Somewhere over Coventry, she began to wonder if she'd gone completely mad. He was a former spy, traitor to the free Wizarding world, murderer, and turncoat. Sure he'd done it all over a girl, and Dumbledore had been a meddling old bastard who'd asked for the killing blow, but still. And forget aiding the Dark Lord, he hung around with Malfoys. By choice.

What on earth was an uppity Mudblood going to get out of any continued "contractual obligations" with him?

By Derby she was fantasising about the feel of his hands on the backs of her thighs, and the heft of his cock on her lips. She pressed her broom into the wind, until she was slicing through the air at speeds Harry only reached in full dive after an errant snitch. The memory of that single kiss made her blood pound in her skull. _"Perhaps we've developed a taste for danger. Don't you get bored at the Ministry?"_

"Gods, yes," she moaned to herself. Her knees gripped the broom, and at first, she tried to ignore the thrum of the wind as she pounded over storm clouds and fog. The vibrating pulse tickled and then throbbed against the crux of her thighs, and she let it take her back to the memory of his fingers, twisting inside her, one long digit crossed over the other, and his mouth, gods his mouth.

Somewhere over the Yorkshire Dales, the wind cried like a woman in the throes, and by Carlisle, she'd regained her senses. Her folly had eased the ache somewhat, but failed completely to take the edge off.

She arrived in Hogsmeade in plenty of time to check in and freshen up. She left her hair down for dinner.

Severus had also left his hair down for dinner.

He'd also taken the rather extraordinary step of preparing a special shampoo guaranteed to provide lustre to his locks, and bathed thoroughly. He'd managed to get himself into this situation by a combination of poor judgement and overwhelming good luck, and he wasn't going to wreck it now by having poor hygiene.

He'd also prepared another batch of enhancement potions because Sunday evening was a long way away.

In a spirit of ecumenicism, he'd also prepared some for Hermione, though he wasn't sure how he'd drop that into the conversation. He couldn't even begin to think what they would talk about so they could have some conversation into which that information could be dropped. When he found himself staring into the depths of his wardrobe and wondering what to wear, he realised that he needed to get a grip on the situation and himself.

He hadn't survived the War to be brought low by someone half his age, when he had the advantage of Legilimency. The old Severus, the one that scrabbled at the feet of two masters, had lived through twenty years of the worst luck. Instead of Azkaban, or being Headmaster, he had his freedom, a huge payoff and a pretty girl had sucked his cock. Even by Malfoy standards, that counted as a win. That the pretty girl had not hexed his testicles off, but then allowed herself to be thoroughly debauched in his office, showed that his luck had finally come good.

He'd have to be cautious in negotiation. She was no pushover, and showed promise at being delightfully devious. On the other hand, if she felt honour would be satisfied with nothing less than him being spanked...

He leered at his reflection, checked his robes one last time to make sure they were clean and unwrinkled, and then Flooed to their appointed meeting place.

He was on time, but she was still there before him, sitting at a quiet table in the corner and surreptitiously watching the door. He threaded his way through the other customers, till he reached her side. "Miss Granger... Hermione."

She started at the sound of his voice, her countenance flashing with a rush of emotion before she could control her reaction. Relief, genuine pleasure, trepidation, lust, and something that he recognised as not precisely anger, but something very close to it. The confrontational hint of a glare that Lily had been prone to right before she threw a hex. She folded her napkin and pushed her chair back, standing to greet him. "Severus, so glad you could make it."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take you unawares," he said, wondering whether he should attempt to kiss her hand, or just shake it. "I came by Floo, rather than less direct means. The good news about my complete rehabilitation into society hasn't reached all quarters."

"I'd expect you'd find that a bit of a relief." Her eyes widened as he bent and kissed her hand.

"Being arrested by Aurors would not be conducive to dinner or negotiations," he replied, straightening again. He wrapped a curl of her hair round his finger, soft and springy against his fingers, and thought of the last time he'd touched it. "I'm glad you chose to wear your hair down this evening. I like it."

Her cheeks coloured, and while she tried to meet his gaze, she failed at first, her eyes falling to the gathers of his robe. She forced herself to look back, taking in his own features, especially the distinct sheen of his own hair. "You look rather dashing yourself, Headmaster." Her tone showed a retreat, beating a tattoo back to the established front of Ministry official against intransigent Death Eater. "Shall we?" She took her seat and gestured to the waiter. "What are you drinking?"

"Severus, please, I thought we were on first name terms." Her hesitation gave him confidence. "After all, I'm not to be Headmaster for much longer, and all down to your powers of persuasion."

She slit her eyes at him, a look that threatened both to do him grave bodily injury and, simultaneously, to devour him whole, with the promise to start over at the beginning the moment she'd completed the first pass, just to be thorough. "So you've sent the contracts along then?" She sipped her wine.

"I have. My resignation takes effect seven days after I've received the monies and the official pardon." He raised his glass to her, before taking a drink. "I hope the Ministry is impressed that you succeeded where Percy Weasley failed."

She nodded, shrugging minutely. "The Ministry sees no difference between Percy's accomplishments and the accomplishments of his staff. Especially someone so, how did he put it? Oh yes. Someone as _'inexperienced'_ as I am. I'd have the decency to be ashamed of my methods, if it hadn't been so..."

"In this instance, Percy Weasley is the true cocksucker," Severus said, as if he were commenting on the weather. "I see no reason why you should be ashamed at all. Or decent, come to that. But I interrupted you - do continue - if it hadn't been so what?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you think you could announce it to the entire restaurant? I was going to say 'enjoyable' but I don't want your head to swell. Let's settle on 'effective' and here comes our waiter..." She smiled sweetly at the man as she ordered her dinner.

Severus followed suit, without the sweet smile, and then, once the waiter had departed, said, "Hermione, even if I announced it to the entire restaurant, no one would believe it. Not of you." He finally smiled, though it was more unholy than sweet. "Whilst I, knowing that that prim exterior is mere camouflage, had the good sense to cast a privacy charm round the table, precisely so that I may tell you how much I enjoyed having my mouth buried in your cunt without shocking the waiter."

Her breath quickened and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Really." She took a moment to look out of the corner of her eye, trying to sense his charm work. It was there, faint but present. Just enough to distort their speech to a mumble to anyone standing outside their immediate proximity. "So if I were to ask you if you enjoyed fucking my mouth, you could respond frankly and specifically, leaving no detail to the imagination?"

"I could, if that was what had taken place, but it wasn't." His eyes were half-lidded, his attention divided between memory and the present. "You petted my cock, I remember that well, and you sucked on it so slowly, and with such inventiveness that I wanted to fuck your mouth - or your cunt, if you'd let me - but you wanted to be in control, you wanted to make me tremble, and you did."

"Did I now? I seem to recall you did an admirable job returning the favour. So admirable that had you seen fit to replace your fingers with your cock, I don't think I would have objected in the least." She fiddled with her silverware, aligning fork and knife and spoon precisely as she spoke, clearly trying to inject some rationality into the moment. She chewed her lower lip momentarily before giving him a stern look. "Did you cast some sort of lust spell on me?"

He shook his head. "The only thing that brought you to your knees before me was your own desire. Just as the reverse is true. It's surprising, I grant you, but not magical."

"I've never done anything like that in my life. And now that I have, I can't stop thinking about it. At first, I thought it was some sort of strange 'Fear of Flying' revelation. Oppressed office worker pushes sexual boundaries or something ludicrous. I tried to fantasise about doing that with any number of likely gentlemen." She put a strange emphasis on the word. "But I realised - it wouldn't be the same. I tried to imagine letting them..." She took a swallow of her wine, licking her lips. "I tried to imagine them between my thighs, but it never worked."

"I'm gratified to hear it." There was no undercurrent of mockery to his tone. "Though perhaps your error lay in imagining letting someone ... which sounds like rather a mild passion compared to what happened between us. I don't think you're a mild person, Hermione."

Her eyes flashed, and he recognised the look from watching her in his classroom. It was as if he'd just given her a key piece of information. The complex equation began to make sense and he could see her mind racing down the lines of calculation to the possible conclusions. "What was it you said? That we'd developed a taste for danger?" She reached a hand across the space between them, brushed the back of her knuckles against his fingers.

"Yes. If not that... a certain intensity of experience, shall we say?" He moved his hand to trap hers, in case she thought of drawing away. "We've both spent our lives supporting others. I think it's time we had something for ourselves."

She closed her eyes, and no simple privacy spell could have prevented an onlooker from seeing the oddly transcendent smile that came over her. She raised her glass, and whispered, "To Section Four, Paragraph 19."

"To our own negotiations," he said, with a wicked smirk, matching her gesture. "And to whoever comes out on top."

She touched the rim of her glass to his. "You really are a bastard, you know." She turned her hand beneath his, drawing a fingertip across his palm before sitting back in her chair.

"Hopefully, only enough to be interesting. I wouldn't want to be more than that." He ducked his head, shadowing his eyes.

His words made her smile. He was trying to be charming, and it was working. Less than a year ago, she'd been living in a tent, surviving on her wits and her last possible nerve. The most charming thing she'd experienced was Ronald Weasley, trying to discuss something other than Quidditch. Today, she'd passed all her NEWTs, and gone straight into government service. She was one of the new regime. In truth, she felt she was in a strange wasteland between uniformed student and contributing member of society. It took the likes of this man, this complicated, arrogant man, to really see through to the person beneath her many, comfortable affectations. She looked into his eyes and saw a reflection of herself. Not the Ministry official, not the insufferable know-it-all, not even the Hero of the Wizarding world. She saw the real Hermione.

The vision thrilled and terrified her.

"I never said it was unappealing."

"Then I am fortunate that you have such unusual tastes," he said.

The arrival of the waiter with their dinner cut off the flow of their exchanges, and then, when they were faced with the rather prosaic meal, it seemed wrong to shift back to such a personal conversation and they turned to other, more mundane things. She enquired as to his plans after he left Hogwarts. He asked intrusive questions about her career choices. She asked if he was moving back to Spinner's End, and he asked if she had one of those horrible Ministry issue one room flats he'd heard about. She teased him about his page three appearance, and he asked where she studied contract law.

Which brought them back around to the subject of terms and conditions, just in time for the dessert course.

"I presume that we won't be needing to set these out on paper," he said. "Not this time."

"Well, you do seem fond of the oral agreement," she mused, swirling her spoon through her chocolate pudding.

"It's a good basis for an opening position," he replied, watching the spoon with amusement. "But perhaps we'd prefer something more binding as time passes."

She gave him a piercing look, clearly wondering if he was toying with her again. "I can't help but wonder if you're speaking literally or figuratively. And I will confess, both options are absolutely tantalising."

"Haven't you heard? A Slytherin always means two things at least when they speak."

She licked her spoon. "Is it rude to ask for clarification?"

His eyes locked onto her tongue, flicking across the spoon, and he grinned. "You can ask for anything you want."

She took in his response and made a point of licking her lips. "This is the part where I swoon, and there is a part of me that did swoon, a little, just then. But the other part - the part more accustomed to negotiating contracts with Slytherins - is pointing out that asking and receiving are not at all the same thing."

"This is true. But asking is the first step to receiving. Is there something you'd like to ask for?"

She set her spoon down and picked a bit of non-existent lint off of the table cloth, doing her best not to meet his gaze. She couldn't ask. Just sending the owl and showing up here, having booked the suite for the weekend, all seemed terribly presumptuous. She could feel the weight of his regard.

"Or was that the wrong question - do you want to be told?" He watched her minutely, trying to assess her reactions.

"As if you would take a lover who needed instruction, like a fifth year." Her indignation was hot and short-lived. "It's incredibly arousing - to give up control to another."

"It is." He reached across to take her hand, running a finger across the back of it. "It's also erotic to be in control. Perhaps you'd like to experience that too. There are a world of possibilities - the only real question that has to be answered right now is whether you're going to ask me to join you upstairs. The rest can wait, can't it?"

She did look up at him through her lashes then. She lifted her chin and cocked her head to one side, struggling to suppress the smirk she knew was rising to the surface. "Severus, I need you. Will you stay with me tonight, and perhaps tomorrow?"

"Of course. I am all yours." He didn't bother trying to hide his smirk at all.

She refused to let him get the check. She did let him hold her chair and she did precede him out of the dining room. "This way," she said, leading him down a long plush hallway and into a stairwell. "It's on the third floor." She fumbled to take out her key, hoping he didn't see the way her hands wanted to shake.

"I hope it has a double bed," he said. "And a sturdy chair or two. En suite?"

"Yes, it's a king, I believe. It's huge compared to my own." She found the door and worked the key in the lock. When it came time to cross the threshold, she opened the door and hesitated, catching his eye. "Did you have any - I mean - did you pack any thing?"

"I prepared for all eventualities," he said, "without taking anything for granted." He reached out to touch her hair, teasing a curl free to coil around his finger.

She tried out a cynical smirk, for effect. The blush in her cheeks ruined the look entirely. She pushed the door open and moved inside. "I already took the liberty of casting silencing charms. Come in, won't you? I didn't order any champagne. I figured if we wanted to, we could always get room service." Now she was babbling.

He followed her through the door, then pushed it shut with his foot. "Perhaps later, when we have something to celebrate. Or need reviving." They were close together, almost but not quite touching, and only a little movement would be needed to close the gap between them. "Last time, I told you what I wanted. This time, I'd like to ask your permission."

She could feel the weight of his presence just behind her. Her handbag slipped from her fingers to the floor and she leaned back to close the infinitesimal gap between them. He was as warm as she remembered. Taller too, she thought as his breath tickled her ear. He'd always seemed impossibly tall, looming over them as children. "Ask me anything," she whispered.

"May I kiss your neck?"

She nodded, holding her breath as he moved the mass of her hair to one side, leaving the nape of her neck exposed. His first kiss was soft and innocent, his second, firmer and more insistent, and his third was open-mouthed, his tongue playing against her skin. She whimpered, her hand reaching behind to grasp his sleeve, his hand, anything. A distant part of her brain insisted he'd drugged her with something potent. Perhaps he'd renewed the dose when she'd gone to the loo. Her knees turned to jelly. "Slow down," she pleaded.

"Ah, Hermione, I'm already moving at a snail's pace," he murmured. He gave her another kiss, as innocent as the first one had been.

She turned in his arms, breathless, her hands capturing his face. He wasn't the most attractive man she'd ever been with. Crooked teeth and a hooked nose, but his eyes, sweet Hecate, his eyes. His gaze sliced her open, all the way to the bone. "Negotiations," she muttered. "Mutually beneficial terms. Binding." She strung the words together, hoping to find her reason.

"Afterwards, don't you think? When we're both better able to think about something other than how, very much i_how_/i, and then we can think about the why's and the if's."

She scrunched her eyes shut, but it was no good. His hands were on her hips, gripping her. Strong hands. She shook her head and opened her eyes. "Well, then kiss me, damn it."

"I'll take that as general permission then," he said, and did as she asked. That saw the end of any desire to go slowly. They hadn't really kissed last time, and that was clearly an oversight. One he was eager to remedy. She tasted of chocolate with a hint of berries.

She met him halfway, standing on her tiptoes. She moaned when his tongue teased along hers, weaving her hands in his hair, pulling him close. She felt the press of his hand in the small of her back and she arched against him, pressing tight from knee to shoulder.

"Bed?" he asked in between long, languorous kisses, reduced to monosyllables.

She nodded, letting him half-guide, half-carry her down to the soft mattress, not willing to break contact for even an instant. "Did you take the potion?"

"It's a little early for that isn't it?" he murmured, his attention focused on undoing her dress now. "Ah," he said, as his brain caught up with his mouth a little too late. "_That _potion. I used a charm instead. More reliable."

He felt her grin against his cheek, and heard a dark, husky laugh. "I could make a joke about foolish wand waving, but I've seen your wand, and it's very serious."

His wand twitched at the compliment. She undid the buttons of his robes and pressed her mouth against his pulse, creating a feeling so decadent, so intensely pleasurable, it stole his breath away.

"And what is this other potion, mm?" she asked.

"Erm, shall we say a little help in case we tire?" he mumbled, continuing his work of unbuttoning,his hands trying to find soft skin beneath her dress.

She shuddered pleasantly at the thought. "Do you mean I have actually found a man who doesn't want to spend the weekend in bed, listening to Quidditch and reading the papers? A man who actually - comes prepared?" She hissed when his fingertips found her breasts, leaning back a bit to look into his face. She regarded him with a curious mixture of hunger and disbelief.

"I certainly want to spend all weekend in bed," he replied, his fingers questing further in search of her nipples. "Reading is the last thing on my mind. I want to have you in all the ways that I can think of, and then, when I've run out of ideas, I'll have you in all the ways that you can think of, and if we can still move at the end of all that, we'll go back to the beginning and try it all again."

Hermione bit her lip, grinning ferociously as he spoke. "That," she mused, tugging his robes off his shoulders, "is going to take far more than a weekend, I believe, if it's to be done thoroughly and with proper..." She whimpered as he took a nipple between his teeth and bit down ever so gently. "Attention. To detail."

"You may have a point," he said, then sucked her areola into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the hard bud at its centre. "I wouldn't want to shirk the job at hand." He grinned wickedly, and squeezed her arse with his other hand.

She gripped his head in her hands as she lay back on the bed, her voice a litany of tiny whimpers and gasps as he worried first one breast and then the other. "First point of agreement. Both parties mutually agree to continue their activities, until each is satisfied, barring physical or mental incapacity, including but not limited to loss of consciousness."

"Mmmm," he replied. "Second point of agreement is that the parties should limit their pursuit of these activities to each other, because I'm a possessive bastard who doesn't like to share." He shifted the hand on her arse, stroking down over her hip and pulling at the skirt of her dress.

"Ooo, I like that one," she purred, kicking off her shoes. "Third point of agreement. No progeny. Ever." She tugged at his robes, frustrated that she couldn't reach more of him. "Off, please. Off off off."

"Agreed. To both points. You really ought to take this dress off." His hand dipped under her hem, and skimmed up and over thigh, his fingers coming to rest in the crease of her leg between knickers and stockings. "I approve of this," he said. "So much more ripe for exploitation."

"Bastard," she laughed, her hands pushing him back onto the bed, tearing at his robes now. She pulled her dress over her head and threw it across the room before bending to paint a trail of searing, open-mouthed kisses across his chest. Her hands skated over his ribs to the hollows of his hips. "You read my thoughts, didn't you - that day in your office?" She looked him directly in the eye when she asked the question, unshielded and brazen.

"Oh yes - you had such interesting ideas."

"Fourth point of agreement. Legilimency is not unwelcome." She pulled his robes over his most attentive cock, never breaking eye contact with him. "So long as it is understood that stray thoughts do not constitute a violation of the second point of agreement."

"Agreed, provided the straying doesn't become a permanent detour," he said. "Otherwise, I shall just take it as a sign that I should work harder at keeping your attention."

"Mmm, that sounds promising." She knelt between his knees, wearing nothing but her bra, knickers and stockings, her hands intent on ridding him of his boots. "Also, if the thought appeals to you, I'd like to learn Legilimency. So I can return the favour."

"We'll see." Severus felt uncomfortable, lying back on his robes, opened down the front, leaving him vulnerable to her watchful eyes, and still wearing his boots. And yet foremost in her mind was the sight of him, splayed before her eyes, a feast for the senses. She could smell the musk of his skin, dimmed by soap, but rising in the shared warmth of the bed. Her lips tingled with the memory of his kisses, wonderful, intense kisses. "You're ahead of me," he said. "I think we'll leave the stockings on though, if you don't mind."

She watched his movements and when he beckoned her, something tightened in her chest with a wild rush of anticipation. She went into his arms, moving to lie beside him after stealing another long kiss. "If they please you," she breathed against his mouth.

He kissed her again, more urgently now. "They frame everything so nicely, make you more naked than you'd be if you were unclothed." He worked a finger into the waistband of her knickers, working them down, until he lost patience and banished them wordlessly.

She gasped, her grip on him tightening. "Severus." She said his name with such need, such hunger. One hand touched his cheek, the other held tight to his shoulder. An image flashed in her thoughts. A vision of his strong back, and her nails digging into his flesh as he laboured above her.

"I'd thought to make you do the hard work. But..." He rolled her beneath him, her thighs parting naturally to hold him, his body pressed hard against hers. "What do you want, Hermione?"

Her heels dug into the back of his thighs, and she arched hard beneath him. She pulled him down for another fierce kiss, breaking away to gasp, "I want you to fuck me. Hard and long and slow, until I can't remember my own name. Fuck me, Severus."

There was nothing he could say to that. A man usually so quick with his tongue, so quick to defend himself, had nothing to say this woman who clearly wanted him. He would have to let his actions speak for him. He shifted against her, holding her gaze as he slipped into the warmth of her affection, body and cunt. She pressed her cheek to his temple, trying to urge his eyes back to hers, groaning as he found his mark. One hand brushed his long hair from his eyes and she met his gaze.

He didn't slip into her mind, just looked at her, taking in her lips plump from kissing, her flushed face, and soft brown eyes, now hooded with pleasure. He couldn't help but think how glorious she looked, lying back on the pillows and undulating beneath him. Her hips rose to meet his, and she sighed, her eyes rolling back in her head as he did his best to live up to her instructions.

He was lost in the sensation as he drove into her, fighting the desire to move quicker and harder and push himself over the edge. The world narrowed to the bed, down still further to the feel of her skin against his, and the bright pulse of pleasure building at the base of his spine, threatening to force its way free.

Her hands moved over his shoulders and back, as if she could pull him so close, there would be no distinction between where he ended and she began. He altered his angle of approach and she tightened around him, whimpering now, gasping for breath in time with his thrusts. Long and hard and slow would have to wait. Their mutual hunger demanded satisfaction, and just as he felt his control begin to slip, she bucked beneath him. The feel of her body clenching around him as she gasped and writhed pushed him over the edge. The pulse of bliss ripped through him like an explosion, and he couldn't help but thrust deeply. A long sweet moment passed, both of them locked tight together, soaring and then slowly drifting back to earth.

He managed to shift his weight to one side a little without breaking contact with her, rolling her with him so they could rest together and remember how to breathe.

"Mmmmmph," he said eventually. It wasn't profound but it was heartfelt; an interrogatory as to her satisfaction with the proceedings. She was still rippling with aftershocks, her face pressed against his shoulder, one thigh looped over his. A shaky hand trailed down his arm to his hand and she brought his fingers to her mouth, nibbling and sucking, her eyes closed as she tasted his skin.

"Mercy," he said, but didn't pull his fingers away, his other arm tightening briefly around her. He hadn't needed to recover between whores with an enhancement potion to guarantee performance, so there had been no cuddling in between bouts. He wouldn't have wanted to cuddle with a professional. It wouldn't have felt right.

Whereas this did. It felt gloriously right.

"No mercy for the wicked," she chided. "You taste - mmm," her words were muffled as she lipped at the sensitive skin of his inner wrist. She kept at her intent exploration of his palm as she moved to lie across his chest, finally shifting her attentions back to his mouth. "Sorry, too much?"

"Too much and not enough in about equal measure." His kiss was more affectionate than passionate, but warm for all that.

She savoured the feel of his mouth, the gentle touch of his hands on her face. Her eyes drifted closed and she nuzzled into his palm. "This scares me," she whispered. "It feels like more than just a shag."

"What's scary about that?" He stroked her hair back from her face, tucking it behind an ear.

"Well, for one, you're a bastard. And, supposedly, an evil one at that." She opened her eyes to study his features.

"I could reform," he offered, with a crooked grin. "You could make me. It'd be your service to the Wizarding world."

"What if I don't want to reform you? What if your being a bastard is what pushes my buttons? What if I reform you and then you become all boring and Weasley-like, hmm?"

"Then I won't. I can be your very own pet bastard, if that's what you'd like." He kissed her again, then put his mouth close to her ear. "Didn't you have a crush on me when we were at school?"

The feel of his breath on her ear, the sound of his voice, and the impertinent nature of his question made her squirm in his embrace. "I did, but it was entirely intellectual in nature," she lied. "Anyway I was fourteen and you were too busy with the War, and that would have been - so _very_ wrong."

"Ah, Miss Granger, I detect in you a very earnest desire to do wrong. Is it because you were such a good girl at school? Do tell me." She gasped as he flicked a thumb over a now hard nipple. "Good girls never get to suck their Potions Master off in his office," he said, his hand still caressing her skin. "It's frowned upon. Not by Potions Masters, mind you."

"I wasn't a good girl," she hissed, shivering as he teased her. "I poached ingredients from your storeroom. And lit you on fire. And I have sucked you off in your office, just last week in case you forgot."

"All your teenage fantasies come to life, mmm? All that burden lifted of being good and nice and kind and polite." He shifted his other hand down onto her hip.

She shuddered again, writhing softly against his touch. "Damn it! You are a real bastard, you know? It's not like that. It's not like that at all. I mean, I don't want you think - it's not a little crush I'm afraid of!"

"It's almost a shame you didn't come to Hogwarts again. The desk in the Headmaster's study is very sturdy, and you would have looked delightful bent over it. I'm sure all the portraits would agree."

A moan escaped her lips as he spoke, and she kissed him, hard, half to shut him up, half because she didn't want him to see just how accurate his aim was.

"There's still time, of course. I don't leave until next week." He slid back on the bed, until she was lying on top of him, making her follow him. "Wear those stockings again, that'll make it easier."

She bent and nipped at his chest, slithering down the length of him until she could kneel between his thighs. A glance behind her gave her a truly wicked idea. She pinned him with a glare as she bent and took his cock in her mouth again, making him gasp. Their musk filled her mouth and nose, and she purred, suckling the whole length of him while he was still half-hard.

Behind her, he could see the long mirror reflecting her pretty arse, now raised into the air. He watched as she reached down, letting her fingers move over her cleft as she devoured him.

"Now that's a pretty sight," he said, his voice low and hungry. His cock rose in appreciation, hard and strong. "I almost feel sorry for them missing out on it."

She released him long enough to growl, "I thought you didn't like to share."

"I don't. I'm not above gloating though."

She smiled and shook her head, brushing her lips over the crown of his cock, making him hiss. She took him back into heat and wetness, moving with abandon now. It only took a few moments before she was certain he was fully restored, and then she was crawling back up to straddle him. He felt her sticky fingers guide him to her cunt and she bit her lip as she centred herself, lowering her body down with excruciating slowness.

"Good girls don't get to go on top either," he gasped. "God, that's good."

"Mmm, yeah, see - you fucked me. It's only fair to reciprocate." She brought his hands to her hips. "Hold on to me. Show me what you want."

"Make it slow, this time. No rushing." He urged her to rise above him, then sink down again, twisting his hips as she did.

She closed her eyes and her head tipped back, her lips parting as she sighed. She rocked against him, small motions, revelling in the sensations and the position of power. "No rushing," she echoed. And then she said his name.

"Though... oh god, yes, do that again... I may ... regret putting myself at your mercy." He half-closed his eyes, watching the way she moved from beneath his lashes.

Her hands trailed down his forearms to cover his hands, indicating her desire to interlace her fingers with his. "Why?" Palm to palm, she repeated her motions, her breathing ragged.

He twined his fingers round hers, using her hands to pull her down into another long kiss. "I'm not about to put ideas into your head."

The change in angle lit a fire in her belly and he felt the tremble in her long muscles as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "Don't you trust me to meet your expectations?"

"I trust you ..." He pulled her closer still, her nipples pebbled against his chest, and her skin hot against his hands. "...to exceed them."

"Oh yes," she moaned, keeping her motions deliberate, intent on doing just that. She nipped at his skin, gasping as he throbbed inside her. A sheen of sweat covered her skin now and coherent thought was becoming more and more difficult. She pushed herself up and grasped his hands, pinning them to the mattress beside his body, limiting how he could move.

He could easily have broken free, but he was content to let her have her way with him. The restraint, though slight, allowed him to be passive, to take what she was offering, and to luxuriate in it. To revel in the driving need to be inside her. He shifted his hips, rising to meet her, trying to encourage her to move faster.

She relaxed her weight onto him, drawing him even deeper and then resting flush against him, she stilled. Or rather, her hips stilled. She exhaled, and gripped him with her cunt, a rhythmic pulse that suckled him just as surely as her mouth had done. Slow. Intent. She had her way with him in the most thorough fashion, until she was trembling and shaking with the effort of holding back the tide.

He thought she felt good right up until she gripped him with that velvet fist, and then he found himself beyond words, nothing clever to say. He could do nothing but gasp and moan, his mouth wide and his lips drawn back to show his uneven teeth.

She whispered against his jaw, "That sweet fire you're feeling, in the base of your spine? It's mine. Give it to me, Severus. Come for me."

He knew he ought to resist. He knew he ought to hang on until she came, but her entreaties unravelled him. He thrust up into her with short, jabbing strokes, doing as she commanded and letting the fire go flooding through him, into her, feeling her catch and burn along with him.

Her orgasm rolled through her like a slow wave, twisting through her body as she undulated against him. She held tight to him, drawing it out for as long as she could. And then they were drifting again, her mouth on his, supping the last few shuddering gasps, doing her best to exceed his expectations entirely.

He patted her arm weakly, then wrapped an arm round her, not ready to lose the comfort of her touch. His heart was still racing, and he felt as if someone had stolen his sinews.

She shifted into the crook of his arm and trailed a fingertip across his chest. "Can you still get into your old Potions classroom?"

He snorted. "I'm Headmaster, for a little longer at least." He added, plaintively, "If you're going to proposition me, can you at least wait till I've got my breath back?"

"Oh I'm sorry," she grinned against his skin. "You've just - inspired me to more research."

"If your intention is to have me beg for mercy, you have your wish. Mercy!"

There was a pause, there was consideration, and then he said, "Though I'll agree to the Potions classroom, which is smelly, dirty and damp, in return for the Headmaster's office without the portraits. Unless I can tempt you to ..."

"To what?"

He shifted, drawing her against him. "Showing them what they're missing in life."

She pondered, a wicked smirk on her face. "Well... They are under geas not to speak about what they see in your office, aren't they?"

He blinked. "This is true."

"Mmm." She raised an eyebrow at him. "So tell me, what did you have in mind?"

"I thought we'd discussed this - you, me, the desk..." His voice trailed away as he considered the options in more detail. "I think stockings would be... I do approve of you in stockings. I could strip you of your clothes, but for them, and then bend you over the desk, and fuck you slowly till you begged to come, or just flip your skirts up and take you hard, and quick. Ladies choice, I suppose."

"I like both ideas, really. But slow, mmm. Really give them an eyeful." Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "Your hand fisted in my hair, posing me the way you want me. Warming me up with those long fingers of you. Teasing me. Merlin, that would be..."

"Phineas would give us a running commentary. Salazar would have suggestions as to how I could improve my technique, and Albus... well, if portraits can have apoplexy, he'd be having a fit." He squeezed her arm, and smiled at the possibilities.

"Silencio could fix that. Though if they enjoy it, I'd want to - y'know - be able to listen to that." Her cheeks flushed red at the admission. "You are not only a bastard, you're a bad influence."

"You're only saying that, you silver-tongued seducer, to get me into bed." He nearly giggled, high on a cocktail of exhaustion and just-shagged endorphins that were making him feel giddy.

"No, it's the truth. I was a prim and proper girl before you seduced me." She joined him in laughter. "I would never have agreed to being bent over in front of an audience, even if they are portraits. And would never, ever begged for you to..." She put a hand over her mouth as if to silence herself.

"To what?" He looked into her eyes, suddenly serious. "Beg me to what?"

She hesitated, but he touched her cheek, refusing to let her look away. His raised eyebrow made her shiver. "To - I don't know how to say it. I was hoping you would instruct me." The last two words faded away into a whisper.

"Show me, then."

She gave him her gaze, opened her mind to him - or did her best to. Even willingly, the images were shrouded in shadow. One showed her spread-eagled on a bed - his bed, presumably, draped in green silks as it was - her hands bound by silken ropes over her head. He watched as his image took his time tormenting her with his hands, his mouth, and finally, his cock. Another image showed her naked, sitting at a dining table, being fed by hand - and then again, tormented, this time with charms, until she was shaking and begging for release. The spectral image of Severus forced an orgasm from her, holding her and caressing her while she wept from pleasure. A flurry of other images moved passed and then she was closing her thoughts, embarrassed at how forthright she'd been, fearing she might chase him away with her intensity.

"Ah," he said, a slow sigh of understanding. "Such interesting ideas."

She tensed, her hand tightening on his ribs. "Forget I said anything. Please."

"You didn't say anything." He turned sharply, rolling her beneath him. "And I have no intention of forgetting. None at all. Every detail is ingrained in my memory, and I look forward to trying them out. I'll be generous this time, and not make you tell me what you want, but next time..."

She closed her eyes, holding her breath, but the one tell she had gave her away. Her lower lip, sucked between her teeth. "Severus, please..." She didn't know if she was asking for mercy, or for him to continue.

"Yes, that sound about right." His touch smoothed down her arms to her wrists, and he grasped them gently, drawing them firmly above her head. The length of his body pressed into hers. "Not quite plaintive enough though, don't you agree?"

She struggled a bit against him for a brief moment, with no real desire to escape. He held her tight until she relaxed and drew a shuddering breath. "Tell me what to do," she said. "I'll do anything for you."

"Yes, you will." He looked round the room for something to tie her up with, noticing at last a curtain tie back hanging from a hook on the wall. He summoned it wandlessly. It slapped down on the bed next to them with a sharp noise that made Hermione jump. "Nervous?"

"Terrified," she confessed, her laugh shaky. "But I trust you." The words came out as a rush.

"There's no need to be worried. This is just a game, and one you can stop at any moment." He drew the rope up and around the bedhead, then wrapped them round her wrists. Not pulling them tight, but just enough to feel the pull against her skin. "It's just you won't want to, will you?"

She rested her head on the mattress, watching his hands work. "No, please don't stop. Please."

"Now that sounds a little more heartfelt, but I'm sure we can coax you to do better." He fixed the bonds together with a whisper, and then looked down at her. "Now what shall I do with you now that you're pinned down?"

She tested the bonds, lightly at first and then with more and more effort, until she was straining against them, her shoulders lifting off the mattress. Her breath ragged, she closed her eyes and turned her face away, her cheeks flushed crimson.

His intentions changed in that instant.

"Don't look away," he said, his mouth right up against her ear, his voice nothing more than murmur. "I want to look at you." His mouth was hot and wet against her ear as he sucked her ear lobe gently. "I want to see your face. I want to see you look at me and know that you want me, that this is more than some game."

She moaned, the sound pure and unabashed lust. She could feel him against her, from wrist to ankle now, covering her. Long and lean, not a hint of softness about him. When she spoke, the words were a hoarse whisper. "I want you so _much_."

"Almost as much as I want you." He only realised how true that statement was as he kissed her neck, nuzzling at the sensitive skin along her shoulder, his hands moving from the bonds above her head down to rest lightly on her shoulders. She was caged by his body, above her, to her side, and one long leg between her knees. "But only almost. So I'll have to make you want more."

"Damn it!" she hissed, her hips twisting, rising to grind her centre against his thigh. "Severus, _please!_"

He leaned into her, denying her the friction she wanted, and pinning her more securely to the bed. "I'm in charge."

"Yes," she answered, exhaling the word against his cheek in relief. A bit of the tension went out of her frame. "Yes."

He waited a moment, enjoying the sensation of her beneath him, all soft and pliable, even though that wouldn't last long. He kissed her mouth, a slow exploration that lasted for minutes, and she softened further, even more tension leeching from her.

She savoured each touch of his lips, each teasing probe of his tongue. She savoured the quiet vocalisations he uttered, the way he held his breath when she suckled his lower lip, and she savoured the taste of him. She savoured the weight of him, the power of his long, lean body, the way he held himself above her, careful not to crush the air from her lungs and yet firmly enough so that she felt no desire to struggle. She savoured the languid intent of his exploration, the way he took care to learn her responses, to play them, drawing her even deeper into the spell she was under.

He took the same care and attention in cataloguing the differences in her reactions as he did in mastering potions, determining when was the right time to touch harder, to move a hand elsewhere, or to close his mouth on some rounded part of her. There were no harsh angles on her, just smooth curves leading him from one place to kiss to another. He licked along the curve of her breast, nuzzling at the underside, tasting the crease of her flesh, before taking the greater prize between his lips - her nipples, ruched and ruddy and incredibly sensitive judging by the startled gasp his kiss evoked.

He found a new spirit of equality, teasing first one then the other, making sure they were equally hard and tight against his tongue, and giving her no chance to relax. She quivered with each touch, trembling with the stimulation, and trying desperately to keep her voice contained. Her body curled and undulated involuntarily, and when he focused on one exclusively for a few moments, he heard her voice hitch and gasp, as if she were on the verge of orgasm. He smiled against her breast then drew back.

"I'm in charge," he repeated. "There'll be none of that, Miss Granger."

She shook for an instant and then exhaled, her breath ragged. "Please, sir. Please touch me."

He shouldn't get a thrill out of her calling him 'sir', but he did. "Patience is a virtue," he said. "And we need some virtue, to balance out all this vice." He buried his head between her breasts and took in her scent.

She laughed, a breathless sound that filled the small room. She tried to reach for him before she remembered her bonds, so she settled for arching up off the bed, one heel hooking around the back of his thigh. For a moment, it wasn't sexual desire that drove her, simply the overpowering need to feel his skin against hers. "Kiss me," she breathed.

"You're not supposed to be issuing orders," he said, his voice muffled against her sternum. "However, I was planning to do that anyway."

The first touch of his lips to hers was almost chaste. She rose to meet him, trying to be gentle, but trembling with hunger now. Now, as before, so eager to please. And as never before, burning bright with a ferocity that had been merely promised in her younger self, and which Severus was amazed to find directed at him. Amazed, but not slow to take advantage. She gave herself to him, opening her mouth to him, echoing the shifting of her hips beneath him.

She whispered his name against his lips. "Tell me what to do."

"Nothing," he breathed, shifting her knee back to the bed and capturing it with his own. "Absolutely nothing." He kissed her again, lingering over it, his hands stroking along her sides in restless movements. They closed on her waist, fingers biting into her skin, and then lifted her - awkwardly at first, as he was careful to make sure her hands were free to pivot - then turned her onto her side, and then rolled her over.

She shifted beneath him, drawing herself up a bit to rest her head between her arms. She wasn't entirely passive, but she was careful to follow the gentle guidance of his hands as he centred her on the bed. She felt the heat of his hands all the more keenly now, and couldn't help the small sounds escaping her lips as he stroked her flanks.

"Lovely," he murmured, and slapped her arse.

She sucked air between her teeth, trying not to whimper. It was the shock and not the sting that brought tears to her eyes. She pressed her face to the mattress, wondering what on earth she'd gotten herself into.

"Would you like me to kiss that better?" he said, leaning forward to murmur into her ear.

She hesitated for a moment before nodding.

He chuckled. He trailed a long finger down her spine as he moved back and down, until it came to rest on the red mark his hand had left on her bum. He circled it, then bent to kiss it, sucking hard at the mark, making it redder, provoking her to cry out. His fingers dug into her thigh as she struggled to raise her hips. "Too much!"

"Is it? Is it really?" He eased off a little, using his tongue rather than his lips, his other hand making soothing circles on her other buttock. "You look so beautiful laid out like this, all _mine _for the taking, and you'd like me to take you, wouldn't you?"

"Gods, Severus!" She blinked hard, squeezing her eyes tight shut, willing the tears not to spill even as they did.

"Look at me," he said. She did as instructed, raising her head to meet his gaze. "Shall I tell you what I saw in my office?"

She nodded. He didn't want to use Legilimency on her. It had been hard and painful in the past, about wresting secrets from people, and seeing himself reflected back as a monster. Here, he was welcomed, able to see himself remade as someone powerful and desirable with the power of his words, able to see how much he was wanted.

"I saw us, here, like this, and I've been thinking of it ever since, haven't you?"

"Gods, yes." She wanted this, so much so it was beginning to terrify her. Not just him, not just the sense of surrender, thought that in itself was pure bliss. What threatened to overwhelm her was the strength and breadth of her desire for him, to please him, to touch him, to lose herself in the sound of his voice as he joined her in surrender. All of it twisted in her chest, wringing out tears that not even Bella had been able to reach. Her hips rose and fell, instinct overriding will. Her hands clenched and released around the cord, and the bed head creaked with the strain of it.

"Ssssh," he said, "I'll give you what you want. It'll be all right." His cock, already hard, was straining to be at home in her.

A rush of emotions washed over her features: relief, arousal, affection, hunger. If she felt safe in his embrace, he realised it made it no less frightening for her to let go. Her reactions spoke of trust, a rare emotion to have directed at him. She believed him, and when her eyes drifted shut and she nodded, he felt the warmth of that trust still humming in his skin.

He moved behind and over her, kissing and caressing as he moved, twisting his hips till his cock was pressing between her thighs. He flexed, and slowly slid home, all his senses surrounded by Hermione - the scent of her, the taste of her, and the feel of her against him. He took most of his weight on his hands, but his body was touching hers along the length of her back, his arms either side of her shoulders and his teeth nipping at her shoulder.

She gasped aloud, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful. He repeated the thrust, with more haste, more force, and then again. The angle was exquisite, grinding the iron hard length of him against every bit of nerve rich skin, making her clit throb and her cunt clench around him. Instinct made her rock her hips up and back, wanting him deeper, but she could only take what he chose to give - short, sharp strokes that only stoked the fire and did nothing to soothe it.

His breath was harsh in her ears, coming in grunting gasps that matched each thrust. She could feel the sweet sharpness of his teeth, waking every nerve in her body. She arched beneath him, her knees spreading wider, decadent and lewd and gloriously open to him, holding back nothing now.

His pace increased, ratcheting up the pressure for both of them, only just able to catch his breath enough to makes sounds that could be the syllables of her name. She felt his hand slide down her hip, fingers questing between her thighs to find her pearl. Just the barest flicker of touch and she shattered, convulsing hard around him, her hips jerking and twisting against his fingertips. He barely lasted another few moments himself, finally free to drive himself to the edge and over with one last, vicious thrust.

For a second, he thought he might have died. The last time he'd felt something that powerful, that had taken himself so far out of his senses, it had been an Unforgiveable. A part of him laughed. This was the exact opposite of Crucio. Completely undone with pleasure. He was dimly aware that he'd collapsed on top of Hermione, and that good manners should make him move, but he felt so close to her that he didn't want to break that connection.

Aftershocks still rippled through her body, making her whimper and shiver. She rested her cheek against her arm, trying to remember to breathe. She was afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell. There was no place on her body she could not feel him. He permeated her completely. She drifted into unconsciousness listening to the sound of his breath in her ear, feeling the strong pulse of his heart beat through her chest.

Eventually he roused enough to cancel the charm on the bindings and free her hands. He rolled to one side, keeping her tucked into his side, rubbing her wrists, making sure the circulation returned to her hands. The air in the room was chilly. He tried to pull the covers over them, but they were trapped beneath their bodies and Hermione was too sleepy to cooperate. He summoned his robes to lay over them, adding warming charms to keep off the worst of the cold, and went to sleep wrapped tightly round Hermione.

She woke in the middle of the night to the call of nature. It was a tricky bit of work to extract herself from his embrace without waking him and when she came back from the loo, he was watching her with eyes that glittered in the dark.

"Not running away, I hope," he said. He'd shuffled under the covers proper while she'd been gone, but had left the corner rucked back for her.

"No," she answered without hesitation. She stood at the side of the bed, making a point of undoing her garters and letting them fall to the floor while he watched. He could see the marks where his fingertips had dug into her hips, and she followed his gaze, running her hands over them and shivering, but making no move to heal them. She lifted the covers and slipped between them, moving back into the welcoming circle of his arms.

"Good," he murmured, and he could have been referring to her decision to stay, or the sensation of her against him, or even both.

She snuggled up to him, face to face under the covers, purring at the warmth of his body. She raised a hand to touch his face, brushing his hair back from his eyes. "And you?"

"Not running away either." He hooked a leg round hers to illustrate the point.

She closed her eyes, smiling broadly. In the darkness, the quiet, she took the liberty to explore him with gentle touches. His jaw and his lips, down his throat to his chest, humming her approval when she felt his hand at her waist. "Mmm, fifth - is it five we're up to? Fifth point of agreement. I promise never to leave without letting you know first, where I'm going and when I plan to return."

"Agreed." His hand curled possessively round her waist, tightening his grip. "This is beginning to sound like a relationship."

"Not quite," she whispered, kissing first his cheek and then his lips.

He returned her kiss, making it slow, languorous and thorough. "And what magic ingredient is missing?"

When she could think again, she pulled back to look into his face. "I've heard tell that some couples enjoy, hmm, a powerful - mutual - affection. One that ensures that any number of minor but possibly infuriating infractions are overlooked."

"We've hardly had a chance to develop any infractions, so only time will tell on that front. Right now, I feel very well disposed towards you, so I could put up with a few irritations. Snoring, for instance."

"Well you do have an advantage. I seem to be rather enamoured of you, even - or perhaps especially - when you're being a bastard." Her hand had drifted down his back and now squeezed his arse.

He laughed silently, his breath fanning across her shoulder. "And as I am unlikely to run out of bastardliness, your affections should never waver."

"Oh I wouldn't be so sure of yourself." He felt her draw her nails lightly across his skin. "It might get old after awhile. You might have to express a similar affection to assuage my battered sensibilities."

"I should be an exemplary lover," he replied, nuzzling his way along her throat. "I would always remember your birthday and our anniversary, bring you flowers and rare perfumes, if that would do."

"Mmm," she mused, tipping her head back. "For a start. Would you remember to do that thing with your tongue? The one you started to expound upon in your office?"

"If you'd like." He shifted lower, trailing his lips down across the swell of her breast.

She touched his cheek. "And only if you like as well. Sixth point of agreement, nothing shall be done to please the other merely out of obligation. That way leads to resentment and hatred..."

He didn't mention Weasley, which he thought made him rather tactful. "That I can guarantee from my side. I'm not a complaisant man." He smiled against her skin, then turned his head, his lips closing round her nipple.

She arched and moaned through closed lips. "I never thought you were. I just - gods, yes - thought I'd include it." Her hands wove in his hair, gripping gently. "Severus --"

"Mmmm?" he said, and the vibrations rippled across her chest. "And I promise to give you what you want, but can't ask for."

She shuddered hard at his words, her hands tightening on his body. He felt the flush of heat in her skin as she held onto him fiercely for a long moment. When she spoke, the tone of her voice let him hear how deeply he'd pierced her armour. "Thank you."

"It's no hardship, anything but." He flicked his tongue across her nipple, then drew back to blow across the dampened flesh, watching as it ruched to a hard nub.

"I trust you," she managed to whisper as his hand moved down the outside of her thigh. "If there's anything, I can give you."

"I'll be sure to ask." He moved his mouth to the other breast, treating it in the same way, till it hardened against his tongue. His hand drifted towards her inner thigh, moving in slow circles that inched a little higher with each revolution of his fingers, and he could hear each pass reflected in her breath.

She lay back, her eyes closed, focusing solely on the feel of his touch, slowly unravelling her ability to hold a coherent thought in her head. She managed to remember his earlier words. "That potion..." she murmured.

He lifted his head, briefly, to ask, "Which one?"

"There's more than one?"

"There are hundreds of the buggers in Moste Potente Potions but is this, I ask you, the time to be talking about potions?"

She laughed, a quiet, rich sound that filled his head. "You said you brought a potion with you. For -- stamina or something. I don't want to be accused of breaking you." Her fingertips stroked his head, caressed along the line of his jaw.

"Ah, that." He laughed, too. "I don't think I need that yet. I did bring the equivalent for you, if you feel that you're flagging."

"That was considerate, but no. I don't think I am." She raised her knee, her heel caressing the back of his leg. "You feel too good to stop now."

He hadn't thought of it as being considerate, just ... sensible and precautionary, and now, gloriously unnecessary. He moved over into the space she had made for him, and turned his attention back to her nipple.

Growing bolder, she cradled his head in her hands, massaging his scalp, curling around him with an appreciative whimper. She hissed and whispered, "Don't stop, but you were teasing my thigh. I liked where that was going."

"Did you indeed?" He pinched her thigh gently, then resumed his stroking, moving more definitely higher, until his knuckles were brushing against her pubic hair.

She trembled for him, an involuntary shudder that moved through her frame from head to toe. "Don't - not yet," she gasped. "If you touch my clit, it'll be over too soon again."

"That's not really a problem is it? You can always have a second, and a third." He moved his hand again, not much, but enough to make his intentions clear.

"Oh gods," she exhaled, clearly torn by the prospect. "They're different. Bright. Sharp. Fleeting."

"So tell me what you want me to do. I did say I'd make you tell me." He curled his fingers, trailing them through her curls.

She nodded, her breath catching in her throat. She looked into his face as he drew lazy circles on her breast with his tongue. "The ones - fuck, I've never told a man this before. The ones from inside are deeper, somehow. More intense." She bit her lip, her hands fretting now at the nape of his neck.

"Then how does this feel?" He turned his wrist, pressed a long finger against her, then slid it in.

Her lips parted and she gasped his name, her hips rising to meet his touch, her cunt rich with musk and honey and heat. She clung to him, her wide brown eyes fixed on his dark gaze. "Like it was made for you."

"Perhaps it was." He crooked his finger in a fluttering motion that he repeated, watching her as her eyes closed. She hummed in approval, chewing her lip as she concentrated on the twist of his fingers. "Don't do that," he said. "If anyone is going to bite your lip, it'll be me."

She licked her lips, panting now, nodding as she lay back, her hands grasping fists full of sheets, her hips rising and falling in tiny circles, echoing his touch. "Can I have a kiss, please?"

He shifted up a little, lips trailing across her sternum, lingering over her neck, until they were mouth to mouth again. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, tonguing it to soothe the red mark her teeth had left.

She rewarded him him with appreciative sighs, her hands caressing his head. Each exchange she grew more bold, as she listened to his own sighs to teach her what he enjoyed. She shifted on her hip, raising her thigh to allow him free movement, her hips now rising and falling against his touch. She looked every bit the debauched nymph he'd seen that first day in his office, and every touch, every shiver, every shuddering breath urged him on.

"You were made for this," he said. "And I ought to keep you here, pinned to the bed, and not let you move out of it. Not without my permission, and I'd make you beg for that."

Her eyes closed as she listened to him, and he felt her hand tighten on the back of his neck. Her cunt rippled around his fingers, hot and slick and inviting, and he felt her clit throb under his palm, electrifying his skin. One of her hands moved down his shoulder to his ribs, her touch hesitating as she reached the hollow of his hip, though whether it was a surfeit of sensation or deliberate pause, he couldn't tell. "Severus?"

"Yes?" he said, mouth close to her ear. "Is there something you want?"

She brushed the back of her hand against his cock, wanting to share the sweet rush of pleasure with him.

"We'll have none of that. We haven't finished with you, yet." He shifted out of her reach for just long enough for her to understand, and then continued his slow torment.

"Bastard," she whispered, and the world held nothing but affection and desire.

"Sweet talking won't get you anywhere." He stilled, his fingers at rest for a beat, before he continued his play. She clutched his arm as he lengthened his stroke, two long fingers now twisting inside her.

He watched as she grew still, concentrating, intent on his every move. He could feel how close she was, vibrating with every pass of his hand. She opened her eyes, and he watched as she ascended, her lips parted, her head tipped back into the pillow. It was intoxicating to know that he had done this to her, to know that he had power over her, even if it was just because she had granted it for that moment. He twisted his fingers inside her again, pushing her on.

Her body rippled and he felt strong muscles pulsing a second before she sobbed, holding tight to him as if she were afraid he might let

er go. It was the loudest he'd ever heard her be, wild and unfettered in her bliss, crying what might have been his name as he continued to stroke her, wringing every last bit of sensation from her body. After a long span of heart beats, she began to gentle against him, her hips still dancing on his hand.

"Not so much of a bastard now?" he murmured to her, holding her tight against him and petting her as she calmed. He nuzzled at her neck, pushing strands of her hair out of the way with his long nose, so that he could nibble gently on her ear lobe.

She gripped him so tightly, her knuckles turned white, even as the slightest stimulation made her contract around him. Her breath still ragged, she whispered, "Mercy..."

"Are you conceding defeat?"

"I didn't know we were at war." She released her hold on him to touch his cheek, her eyes dark and her cheeks flushed. She didn't ask this time, but leaned in to claim his mouth with a slow, deliberate kiss.

"We aren't, if you're conceding defeat," he replied, and smiled softly, his expression at odds with the sentiment.

"Not in a million years," she murmured, echoing his smile. "Guess you'll have to stick around for round two."

"Are you going to launch a counter-attack?" He raised an eyebrow knowingly.

"Absolutely. And I'm going to cheat." He felt the brush of her hand against the lower half of his stomach, her fingertips brushing against coarse hair.

"You should always deliver on your threats," he said, managing to look uninterested in the path her hand was taking. "It's almost the First Rule of Slytherin."

"But I'm not Slytherin," she murmured against his cheek. The turgid state of his cock belied his disinterest and she felt it twitch as she brushed her fingers along the ridge, oh so delicately, from crown to base. Go slowly, she told herself. Unravel him with pleasure. "Therefore it's not a threat, but a promise."

"Promises are made to be broken." His hips moved of their own accord, trying to encourage her to move again.

"Not my promises, love. And never where you're concerned." She nestled closer to him, her legs tangled with his, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder, drawing their world down to the shadowed warmth between them. She continued to caress him with long, gentle touches, now grazing the inner curve of his shaft, circling the base to dip beneath where she took the fullness of his balls into her palm, weighing them carefully. "You feel amazing," she said, not a trace of irony in her voice.

"I could say the same thing," he replied, his voice strained.

He felt her smile against his skin. "I think you were made for me. I think I should keep you here," her fingers encircled him, "pinned to my bed." She gave him a firm, slow stroke. "Hard and aching, ready for me at a moment's notice."

He looked down at where her hand was grasping his cock, his eyes flaring with something dark and unnamed. To be wanted was heady, more heady than the simple thrill to be reached by her hand alone.

She kept talking, her hand moving just a touch slower than his body wanted. "I'd come home after a horrible day at the office, having thought about you all day. You'd be waiting for me, stretched out, bound to my headboard, blindfolded perhaps? I would whisper your name and your skin would come alive. You'd be so hungry for me, so hard -- like you are now. So deliciously hard." She pressed the head into the palm of her hand, teasing the bead of moisture there onto her skin.

"It's not as if I have anything in particular to do over the coming months," he hissed, his back arching, pushing his cock up into her hand. "Three square meals a day, and I'm yours."

She leaned closer and kissed him hard, her hand's motions never stilling, stroking him at a delicious adagio pace now. "On your back," she growled. She slipped from his arms, kissing and biting her way down his torso, until she could suck his length between her lips, moaning aloud as she did so.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed someone to take the lead like this, where he'd trusted them enough to do so, and it was making his head swim to see the way her mouth swallowed him. He watched as she savoured him, her hands playing over the skin of his stomach and his hips while she suckled him all the way to the root. He could feel her swallow around him, and the sensation was more intense than any he'd ever experienced. He breathed in sharply, letting the air out again slowly in a half sigh, half moan. He'd not been vocal in the past either, he realised. It had always felt risky to be that open about enjoyment of anything. He trusted Hermione, which was a sign his brains were coming out of his cock, bearing in mind the way this had all started.

And yet... he groaned as she sucked a little harder, her tongue flickering across the head of his cock... and yet, if she were pissed off about something she'd let you know up front and in detail, and not wait and plot revenge. At least, he hoped not, because if he didn't get to come soon, he was going to keel over, and she knew it.

She eyed his hands fisting in the sheets, particularly pleased with herself as she watched his stomach muscles tense and ripple. A brief moment's reprieve as she took him in hand. "So beautiful. So close..."

He barely had time to gasp out, "Oh fuck." And then the choice was taken out of her hands as he couldn't hold back any longer, and came hard, leaving him shuddering in relief. Hermione gasped, laughing with a particularly evil kind of glee. When he could open an eye, he saw her wiping off her cheek and grinning at him like a kitten in cream.

She even ran a tongue over her lower lip and purred at him, "Surprise."

He gave a short bark of laughter. "Yes, you are."

She concentrated for a moment, and he felt the light tingle of wandless Evanesco, gentled down for use against sensitised nerves, and then she was stalking back up his long frame. She placed a reverent kiss every few inches as she moved, ending with nip to his collarbone, quickly soothed with another open-mouthed kiss. "You bring out the worst in me."

He wrapped a leaden arm round her, pulling her more tightly against him. "I refuse to accept any blame in the matter. Only thanks."

"Tell you what," she murmured sleepily. "I'll show my gratitude by letting you fuck me over the headmaster's desk. And after you've scandalised every portrait in the room, you can take me back to your bed, in your personal quarters. And you can make love to me like you mean it. Sound good?"

"It does," he said, and stroked her hair. He murmured into it, "And I'll mean it."

She gave him one last kiss, made a deeply contented sound, and fell asleep in the crook of his arm.

Saturday morning found them still tangled up in one another. Again, Hermione reluctantly left the bed first. She tapped the room service menu with her wand and ordered them a continental breakfast. While she was freshening up, it appeared on the sideboard, the smell of hot buttered toast and strong breakfast tea reaching down through the layers of sleep to tickle Severus' senses.

His nose twitched, but his eyes remained closed. And old trick, to allow him to work out what was going on in his vicinity before appearing to wake. He detected breakfast, and the rich musk of themselves on the sheets. He opened his eyes at last, and looked over to the area he could hear her moving around in. "Tea?"

She stepped into the doorway, her robe falling off one shoulder as she dragged a brush through her hair. "Give me a moment and I'll get it for you."

He stretched out on the bed, raising his arms above his head to work out the kinks in his shoulder and back, then settled back against the pillows watching her intently. She returned his gaze, a playful smirk ghosting over her lips before she turned away to fill two mugs. "Milk? Sugar?"

"Milk, please. No sugar. I think I'm sweet enough, don't you?"

She laughed and shook her head, her hands moving with ease over the tray. She took two sugars, he noted, and a generous splash of milk. It was information that might come in handy later. She picked up both mugs and came to sit beside him on the bed, holding his out. "I think there may be a hint of sweetness in you, despite all outward evidence."

"Perhaps I just need to be rogered into the bed to bring it to the fore?" He took his mug, and sipped at the tea. "Mmm, that's good."

"Oh nonsense. I've read page three and not even a good rogering makes you sweetness and light. I think it's something more than that." She reached out to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear with a single caress. "I think it takes someone who is not afraid of you." She raised a single eyebrow.

He fixed her with his best Potion Master's glare, but she didn't look remotely concerned. "It wasn't," he said, "a good rogering. Lucius interrupted things, on the one hand, and ..."

Her smirk brightened as she glanced pointedly at his groin, and took a long sip of her tea. "Please, go on."

His cock, already stirring in response to her refusal to be cowed, hardened further at her attention. "And you really can't compare the feigned enthusiasm of a professional with the ..." He paused, trying to find a delicate way to end the sentence that didn't actually compare Hermione to a tart, even if she did come out ahead. "It was cheap and sordid, and not a great deal of fun."

She gave him a mock pout, her eyes still glittering. "I see. Well, I'm not done with you yet." The tone of her voice turned dark and low. "So if it is a good rogering that makes you sweet, by the time we check out tomorrow, you should be able to open a shop that will put Honeyduke's to shame."

"But what if I have a relapse afterwards?"

She laughed again, unable to maintain the facade any longer. "I would prescribe a weekly, if not daily, reapplication of the cure, specifically tailored to meet our needs, because heaven knows I'm not always the most pleasant person to be around. It'll be your responsibility to make sure I'm properly rogered as well."

"The Snape cure," he said, utterly straight faced. "To be administered internally, twice daily. At least."

"Oh at least. Tell me," she asked, leaning in so close he could see more than just her décolletage, "should it be taken on an empty stomach or a full one?"

"I think a man should be allowed to drink his tea before being tempted into administering the full cure," he said, but his eyes were tracking along her chest as he spoke. His mind was on more than milk, no sugar.

"Mmm, yes, I suppose so," she said, sighing in mock disappointment. She shifted to sit beside him, her robe slipping off both shoulders now as she Accio'd the morning paper from the sideboard. Retrieving her tea, she got down to the very serious and rather startlingly domestic task of scanning the opinions page.

"Are you trying to lead me astray, Hermione?"

She crossed one leg over another, brushing her foot along his calf affectionately. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

He turned towards her, still holding his cup in one hand, and eyed the view speculatively. "You do look as if you're trying to sweeten me up."

She curled the edge of the paper down and waited to catch his eye. She studied his face for a long moment, feeling strangely vulnerable. It was one thing to shag like rabid minks, and quite another to flirt across the pillows. "I'm itrying/i to read the paper while you finish your tea. If after that you don't feel like toast and eggs, or a hot bath, or a stroll round the gardens, I may try to sweeten you up some more. If it's not -" her serious look cracked into a playful grin as his hand snuck across her lap, touching her hip, then settling there more firmly. "If it's not too much trouble."

"A bath sounds interesting, if a little lonely." He moved his hand round and down and squeezed.

She closed her eyes and the paper sagged even more, crinkling with each knead of his hand. "Mmm, a bath. The tub did look like it might manage the both of us. Shall I scrub your back?"

"Such clever ideas you have," he said, and tried to move over more, jostling his tea cup against hers and making them both slop over the rims. "Bugger!"

She turned, catching his arm before he could pull away, and captured his mouth with her own, paper crushed between them, tea soaking the sheets as she kissed him. A new kind of kiss, certainly filled with their singular passion, but gentle, a craving repressed to the breaking point and no longer able to be contained. A morning kiss, filled with promise.

"There's tea everywhere," he murmured against her lips. "Definitely need a bath now." He didn't move from the bed though, and settled more closely against her.

Her fingertips traced along his jaw, exploring the hollow beneath his ear before slipping into his hair. She could feel the back of his hand captured between them, slip beneath the edge of her robe, and she shivered as the backs of his knuckles brushed over the peak of her nipple. "I've never made love in a tub before," she whispered, her breath shallow and ragged.

"Neither have I." It occurred to him that he'd pretty much not made love anywhere at all, though he wasn't going to come out into the open and admit that. "We could draw up a list..."

"Later?"

"Very much later."

She nodded, abandoning paper and mug to roll across the top of him, her own robe now soaked with rapidly cooling brew. She lingered atop him for a long moment before slipping first one foot and then the other from the bed. "The house elves will take care of that. Come with me," she whispered, tugging him up by the hand, letting her robe fall to the floor.

Severus hadn't brought a robe, not having really considered it necessary for a weekend in bed; he certainly approved of Hermione not wearing a robe either. The view from behind was breathtaking, though her arse would look even better when she was bent over his desk. His cock rose hopefully.

She lead him into the bath, turning to kiss him in the door, her hands never leaving his skin. There were soft towels over the cold porcelain edge, and she sat and leaned in to put in the plug and twist the faucets to full. Turning back, she found herself face to face with his rising hope. "Mmm, here we are again," she teased, looking up at him.

"We're becoming fast friends," he replied.

"Is that all?" Despite herself, she sounded a bit wistful. She pulled him closer, laying a line of kisses from the point of his hip bone across the flat plane of his stomach, brushing her cheek against him. Her hands caressed his thighs, down the outside, the barest caress.

"Would you want more?" His eyes drifted shut, concentrating on her gentle touches.

She let her breath warm his skin as the steam surrounded them. Her hands continued to explore, across his knee, along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, both coming up from beneath the cradle his bollocks as she pressed her face against the base of him. It was hard to think rationally when her senses were full of him, musk and flesh and blood and the low purr of his pleasure vibrating in her head. What woman wouldn't want more of this?

She looked up to see his transported expression, and remembered back to the night before when he'd held her so fiercely, taken his pleasure from her and given back tenfold in the same breath. They'd agreed that it was mutual and exclusive, selfishly so. She'd agreed to the deepest level of intimacy by inviting him into her mind, even if that point of agreement hadn't been mutual. They'd agreed upon clarity of communication, something some couples strived towards for years and yet never managed to attain. She rather thought they'd agreed to more, and yes, she wanted it.

He opened his eyes, seized with the thought that he could ask for more, and should do. He'd spent too long settling for second or third best, and he didn't have to any more. But that meant he had to change the pattern of his life and actually move into the open, leave the shadows behind. "I want more," he said. "I want everything."

She ceased her attentions to look up into his face, her expression questioning. He hadn't looked into her eyes when he'd expressed the sentiment. That meant it came entirely from his own thoughts. Still, she felt she should proceed cautiously. "What do you mean, 'everything'?"

"Yes. I don't... everything. I want to suck the marrow out of the bones of life. I want whatever's going, and then more besides. I'm owed."

She turned to dip her fingers into the water, and turn the faucets down to a low burble. "Not to dispute the fact that you deserve it, is this within the bounds of our agreement or outside it?"

His brow furrowed. "Are you asking me whether I intend to tom-cat round the Wizarding World?"

She took his consternation as its own form of answer. "So, within the boundaries." She let loose a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. "Forgive me, it's all rather sudden. I don't feel as if I'm entitled to any claim on you yet."

"Frankly, I'm not sure whether I can tell which way is up or down, but I think we can assume that the teenage rebellion years have been visited, and not enjoyed that much. Having done that, I'm ready to move on and try other things." He stopped, at a loss to know what those other things could be.

She eased him back so that she could stand and step down into the bath, holding her hand out to him. "Such as?"

He sighed, still thinking, then stepped into the bath. He moved closer to her, an arm round her waist. "Don't you feel that you've spent your whole life living for others?" He kissed her hair, and rested his head against hers.

"Perhaps." She lay her cheek against his chest and wrapped her arms around him, a proper, unabashed hug. "I never had time to resent it the way you must have done."

"Give it time," he said darkly, his grip tightening. "Or rather, don't."

She held tight to him for a long moment. When she did speak, it was a whisper. "I want more too. More of this."

"Mmm, yes." His agreement was a deep murmur that rumbled through him. "More of this, and more than this."

She nodded, lingering, loathe to disturb this strange and wonderful spell they had woven. Eventually, the water temperature fell to just right and she pulled back to smile into his face. "I think this works better if we sit."

"I think you might be right." He chuckled, feeling oddly light-headed. They had to disentangle a little to sit down in the bath, but quickly moved back again once they were settled. "This is nice," he said, well aware it was an incredibly asinine thing to say, but feeling that this once he was allowed to be asinine. His brains had been shagged loose after all.

"Mmm, yes." She nestled between his legs, her back to his chest, his arms wrapped around her. Her head fell back to rest on his shoulder. "So, after you leave Hogwarts," she mused, "and are a free man, and have no place to sleep, we must find a way to administer your cure. Twice daily. At least."

"I've my parents house, so I'll have somewhere to sleep. There's a large bed, but the place does get chilly so we'd have to huddle together for warmth." He reached behind him for the bar of soap, and rubbed up some lather in his hand, allowing it to drop onto her shoulders.

"Oh, yes," she sighed, whether in response to his proposition or the sensation of his hand moving over her wet skin, it was hard to tell. "Though I anticipate there being a slight problem. I'm not a morning person in the least, so keeping you sweet will have to be an after dinner task. And I don't fancy leaving a nice warm bed full of you to toddle home in the rain."

"And it does rain a lot, I have to admit." His hands moved lower, still innocently washing his bath companion, but teasing with the possibility of something more. "I think the only thing to do is to offer you a bed for the night."

She tilted her head to one side as his hands moved. "And then there are the Friday nights when we've shared a bottle of wine and even though the weather is wonderful, we don't care to be parted."

"Those too. And can we really take the risk, what with the English weather and all? Some might say you could carry an umbrella, but what if it were to break, or fail to work? The risks are too great." His hands drifted lower, and closed round her breasts, his thumbs brushing across her pebbled nipples.

She sucked air through her teeth, raising her hands above her head to encircle his neck, savouring the added benefit of giving him greater access. "Indeed. And then there are the nights when I'm bound hand and foot in your bed, and you've decided I'm not allowed to go home until you're done with me."

"If you keep saying things like that, I'll not be done with you for a long time."

She turned her head to whisper against his ear. "Or possibly the nights you are the one bound hand and foot. And I've brought over my copy if the Encyclopedia Sexualis to experiment with."

"What did you have in mind, Mistress," he said, amused and intrigued in equal measure.

"Oh I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, but I'd love to find your limits. And push them a bit." She reached up to take his ear lobe in her teeth, splashing the tub water as she moved.

"I'm not sure..." He tightened his grip on her slippery body, holding her against himself. "I'm not sure that pushing limits is wise to start with, shall we say?"

"Oh no, not to start with." She twisted in his arms, shifting to straddle his lap so she could look in his face. "But then again, we're already off the map here, aren't we?"

"Off the map, lost our way in the Forbidden Forest without any convenient trails of breadcrumbs to find our way home." He gave her a curiously lopsided grin.

She ran a dripping wet finger down the bridge of his nose, reflecting the grin back at him. "Still, we're not here, together, in this bath, because we stayed on the safe, well-lit path."

He nipped at her finger, then sucked it into his mouth, rolling his tongue round it. His hands were on her back, pulling her closer. "This is true."

She leaned in close, her breasts flush against the plane of his chest, her eyelids drooping as she toyed with his lips. "Intensity of experience, you said."

"Mmm?" he replied, trying to sound noncommittal, though his cock was clearly interested in whatever was going on.

"Lists of places we'd never made love before," she continued, her voice pitched low. Her hips moved so gently as to barely slosh the water in the tub, but enough to create friction. "Promises and covenants and bindings."

"Are you speaking metaphorically about bindings," he gasped, twisting beneath her.

She rose on her knees just enough to entice him before sinking back down, trapping him just a hair's breadth from where he wanted to be. "You wanted more. I'm offering it to you."

"And I shall be saying yes, once I know precisely what I'm saying yes too. It's an old habit of mine to want to know these things." He didn't move, hoping that it was as much torture for her as it was for him to be poised as they were.

She placed her lips against the corner of his mouth, her voice breaking as she spoke. "Everything. All of it. All of - me."

"Then, _yes_," he said.

And even more softly. "All of you."

"As much as there is."

"All of it."

He nodded. "All, then."

Her hands tightened on him. "Say 'yes'."

"Make me," he said, his dark eyes glittering with a challenge.

She bit him, her sharp teeth sinking into his skin where his neck and shoulder met.

He arched up, his hands digging into her reflexively. "Ouch. I said make me, not eat me alive."

Her kiss both inflamed and soothed the bite, and she murmured her apologies, all tenderness and savagery coiled around him. "I'm going to," she growled, rising up on her knees. She looked down into his face as she shifted, raising first one knee and then the other to rest on her heels, leaving her entirely open to him. She pushed the damp strands of his hair back from his face, holding on to his neck to keep her balance. "Going to make you mine."

"Yessss," he hissed, drawing out the word.

She growled, one hand slipping beneath the water to grasp his now rock-hard cock, sliding it against her slit. "Going to devour you whole." The angle was steep and the position let him see everything below the surface of the water. The rosy petals of her cunt, the swollen nub of her pearl, the way her nether lips first kissed and then, oh so slowly, took him into the hot velvet fist of her body.

"That's it, that's a good girl," he crooned, hands stroking along her thighs. "Swallow me up."

She came to rest flush against his body, breath ragged, her forehead resting against his. Her shaking hands took one of his and guided it between her thighs. "Gently," she whispered. The merest brush of his fingertip across her clit and he felt her tense, felt her body clench on his cock, heard the sweet shuddering sigh of a woman on the very edge.

"You weren't very gentle with me," he said softly. "You were determined to mark me."

"I had to. You have thick skin," she murmured. "Words bounce right off." She closed the distance and kissed his mouth, a feather-light touch and then the gentle press of her lips. "Don't worry. You'll get your chance to mark me."

"You can count on that." He leaned into the kiss, his tongue running across her lower lip. "You've marked your territory, so it's only right I get to plant a flag of my own."

She laughed, gasped as the ripples of pleasure spread through her body, the skin of her arms flaring with goose flesh. She lifted herself up and came back down, taking him deeper. "Permanently. I want a mark only I can see. That I can keep. A bit of you in my skin."

"Wouldn't you rather have something temporary, something that needs to be renewed? Mmmm?" His hands on her hips urged her to rise up again.

Her eyes closed and she shook her head, caught between the sharp realisation of what he was offering and her own harsh understanding of reality. "If you - go away - I'll have nothing of you. No, something permanent." Her hand slipped down to grip the place on his arm where his Mark had once burned and now lay grey and quiet, almost healed over. "Please."

"No, not that." He shook his head. "I won't go away. Promise."

She bit her lip, concentrating on the heat of his skin, the sound of his breath, the touch of his hand. "Seventh point of agreement," she whispered. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Agreed." He thrust up into her, his thumb circling her clit. "I'll leave no marks that can't be erased, and I'll not leave whilst you still want me."

She nodded sharply, pulling him into a fierce kiss. Her breath hitched and she held tight to him as the first wave took her, her body jerking, sending water splashing over the edge of the tub. He pushed up into her again, and again, until all passion spiralled up out of him, flooding out to leave him weak in its passing, never breaking her kiss.

Hermione broke away to scrub at her face, laughing as they collapsed together. Somehow, she'd ended up with her thighs around his waist, and the only thing holding her up was his hands interlaced behind the small of her back. She didn't care. "I'm turning into a prune," she laughed.

"You look fine to me." He eased her into a more comfortable position, resting against him. "More than fine."

There was silence, for a while, as their breathing returned to normal and their heartbeats steadied. A wordless discussion took place, a tightening of Severus' hand on Hermione's waist conveyed his desire to keep her close and come to know her better, her answering squeeze accepting the offer. She placed a gentle, chaste kiss over the red crescent left by her teeth, moving her hand to heal it. She gave him a questioning look when he stopped her, but he shook his head. She rested her forehead against his, savouring the quiet rumble that was his sigh of contentment.

He gathered her closer, and sought for some way to turn the atmosphere to a lighter vein, to acknowledge their tentative settlement and yet give it time to develop naturally, as if they were properly a couple and not some people thrown together by peculiar circumstance. Like trying on new robes for size, and seeing how they fitted. "You know, you're a dreadful cheat, Hermione. You said you were going to scrub my back, and instead you take advantage of me in a shameful way."

"I never cheat," she pouted, reaching around behind him to grab the sponge and the bar of soap, quickly covering his backside from his nape to the waterline in a thick lather. She proceeded to lose the sponge and use her bare hands to knead at the few knots in his neck and shoulders. "And besides," she hummed contentedly, "you didn't seem to mind much."

"You had me pinned down and at your mercy," he replied, stretching as she worked over his muscles. He grunted as she found a taut spot, then relaxed again. "Do feel free to do it again."

Her fingers moved up his neck to his scalp, clearly enjoying the sounds he was making as she worked. "Oh I think I just might. Tell me, when you're no longer at Hogwarts, and I can no longer call you 'Headmaster' or 'Professor', what shall I call you, hmm?"

"As I recall, you've been making free with my name already. Why turn shy now?"

She shook her head, grinning. "Didn't you just call me Mistress a few moments ago?" Her hands moved under his hair, her thumbs resting at his temples, stroking the tension away.

"Mmph," he said, then realised that wasn't answering her question. "I did. I also called you other things." He smirked.

She frowned, trying to remember. Her hands sluiced warm water over his shoulders as she washed the suds away, moving over his skin, intent on marking every inch she could reach. "You called me a 'dreadful cheat', which isn't precisely an endearment."

"From a Slytherin?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Mmm, perhaps a compliment, but an endearment? Regardless," she waved him off, pulling her own hair out of her eyes, "while I rather like 'Professor', you so aptly noted the - erm - origination of that, mm, fantasy..."

He settled back in the bath, his gaze flickering over her body, watching her reaction to his words. "And you feel that this won't survive my retirement. Perhaps you're right. Under the circumstances then, we will have to settle for Sir, then, won't we?"

A flush of colour bloomed in her cheeks, and it wasn't from the heat of the bath. She tied her hair back into a knot, giving him an unobstructed view of her breasts as she moved. "Just 'sir'?"

"Master has a nice ring to it," he said blandly. "And none of that; I need some toast to rebuild my strength."

"Toast sounds heavenly." She stood and reached for the towels, handing one to him as well.

He stepped out of the bath to take it, and wrapped it round his waist. "And then we could dress and go for a breath of fresh air, if you'd like?"

She took his hand, still drying the ends of her hair as she stepped onto the warm rug. She slit her eyes at him, a playful glare. "Won't that be awkward for you? I mean, I have no qualms about being seen holding hands in public, but..."

"I couldn't give a monkey's what anyone says or thinks." He shrugged. "I'd like to do something normal, as if we were normal, just for once."

"All right, then." She finished drying off and hung her towel to dry, sweeping past him into the bedroom and deftly undoing the knot in his towel as she went by. "Did you have something in mind?"

"Erm, what is normal?" he found himself asking. "Toast, more tea, a walk somewhere holding hands, as you say, and... talking I suppose." He'd never really thought about the traditional courtesies between couples.

"Mmm, talking. That could be dangerous, you know." She set her bag on the bed and stood over it, looking for something decent to wear out of the room. The little black dress was still draped over the back of a chair, and she didn't think the couple of lacy things were at all proper attire for tea. She quickly Scourgified the clothes she'd flown up in, and laid them out. "Do you think we've worked up enough mutual affection to sustain an actual conversation?"

"I don't know," he said, and scooped up a piece of cold toast. "If we haven't, we can always find a quiet spot and work up some more." He bit down into the toast, and chewed and swallowed.

She studied him for a long moment, the task at hand forgotten. "You know..." She started, speaking softly. "I don't want you to feel - pressured. Some contracts have a grace period, if one of the parties changes their minds." It sounded rational and sensible and practical, but just saying the words made her stomach fall and her heart pound.

He stepped closer to her, and put his hand on her pubis. She gasped, her stance widening to accept him as one long finger slipped between her thighs. "You claimed me, with this," he said, eyes dark. "You don't get out of that easily."

Her hands fastened on his arm, holding him tight. "I think you did some claiming of your own...Sir."

"I did." His finger slid deeper, scraping along her clit. "And I'll do so again, fuck you out in the open, in front of everyone, so they can see that I've done so. Though tell me, is that a threat that would compel you to meet your side of the bargain, or something I should offer as a reward?"

She clung so tightly to him her nails bit into his flesh. "Don't ever refer to it as a bargain again. As if we're damaged goods, on special, for sale below cost. Claim me as yours because you want me and no one else but me. Just as I will claim you as _mine_, because I want you and I will have no other but you."

"Then don't you behave as if that's what it is, and don't belittle my words to you." He crooked his finger, as if he were beckoning her closer. "Trust in it."

She whimpered, her hips twitching into his palm. "Mine. My love," she whispered. "Gods, Severus. Put your mouth on me. I want to smell myself on your lips for the rest of the day."

He slipped to his knees in front of her, hand still in place. "We're never going to leave the room at this rate, are we?"

Hermione turned, sitting right in the pile of lingerie on the edge of the bed, her hands touching his face. "That was rather my thought --" Her words trailed off as he nuzzled along her soft faces of her thighs. He took his own sweet time about getting to the heart of the business, though his finger remained in place, shifting slightly, to mark his place. He dwelled lovingly on her skin, marking it with his teeth, then soothing it with his tongue, reaching higher and nearer, until his lips moved across her pubic curls.

She lifted her legs to rest on his shoulders, her toes curling and her breath coming in stuttering gasps as he advanced. His touch was gentle and cunning, playing with expectations by hesitating or advancing, until she had no expectations left. She was only allowed to feel, to experience what he wanted her to experience. Freshly washed, her scent was clean and rich, her cunt flowing with honeyed musk and liquid heat.

"This," he said, his mouth pressed up tight against her, "is mine, isn't it?"

Her hand fisted in his hair and she nodded, her features twisted in a grimace. Her other hand fumbled to his where he held her hip, her fingers interlacing with his in a fierce grip. "All of me," she whispered, her eyes shut tight.

"Don't forget it again." He twisted his finger deep in her, and sucked hard on her clit. She cried out, her voice filling the small room, ragged and gasping in time with the thrusts of his hand. It wasn't long before she was hanging on the edge of the precipice, her entire body quaking with his every touch. "Now," he said.

With the simple command, she came undone in his hands, under his mouth. He felt the strength of her orgasm as she arched off the bed, her entire frame going taut for a long span of heartbeats, quivering with the intensity. And then she was gasping for air, fluttering like a wounded bird, trying to hold onto him, to draw him close as she found her way back to him.

He followed the tug of her fingers, rather than lose his hair, and came to rest half over her, face against her stomach and hands holding onto her hips. He kissed her belly, and smiled crookedly. "Are you satisfied now?" he asked.

She laughed, a radiant smile on her face as she tried to focus on the ceiling, on his face, on breathing. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to his lips. "I think you broke me."

"I doubt it." His smile broadened into something rather more smug.

"No, I think you did. I think you'll have to pour me into a teacup to take for a walk."

"And you so young and all."

She batted half-heartedly at him, her hand coming to rest on his cheek. She studied him for a moment, taking in the lines and planes of his face. The deep furrow at his brow seemed softer, and all the sharpness had faded from his lips, leaving a sensual mouth with a heartbreakingly lopsided smirk. "I never meant to doubt you. I only - even as I claim you, I want you to know, you're free to stay or go. Something like this - can't be owned."

"Silly girl," he said, and nothing more. As if he could be prevented from leaving if he chose.

As if he would ever choose to do so.

She dressed quickly, braiding her hair and charming it into a knot at the base of her skull. She threw the lingerie back in her bag and kicked it under the bed, finding her shoes where they were strewn. One had found its way into the closet, the other was under the dresser. She signed the check for their breakfast and added a nice tip, even though the toast had been cold by the time they got to it. When she'd got herself together, she reached for him and found herself hesitating. Clothes made everything more formal. It was a kind of armour, she supposed. "Ready whenever you are," she said, fingering her wand in its holster.

Severus nodded. "Do you have any preference as to where we go?"

She shook her head, "Just out and about. I'm abdicating any kind of serious decisions for the rest of the day." She checked for the third time that she had the room key before opening the door to the hall. Midmorning and she could see a few breakfast trays of the other occupants lining the hall.

"Then let's see where our feet take us, shall we?" Severus mouth twitched at the sight of all the trays; they weren't the only people there with amorous intentions. He offered his arm to Hermione, and she took it, nestling close to him for a moment before retreating to a more decorous distance, only to be pulled back in again.

She dipped her chin, hiding a smile he knew, and set off for the back stairwell. They left the key to the room with the man behind the bar, and headed for the back door which led out onto the alley behind the restaurant. She paused, checking both ways, a familiar tension in her glance. It would be many years before she would forget and be able to walk the streets without her wand very close at hand. They stepped out into the weak morning sun. The day was shaping up to be pleasant, not too warm, but no rain, and a pleasant breeze. The sort of day that he couldn't really remember being in his past, which seemed to be rainy, or cold, or overcast.

"You have such long legs, I shall have to jog to keep up." She put a hand over her face, laughing at her own conversational ineptitude.

"I shall dawdle," he replied. "Not least because you have worn me out."

"Oh have I now?" She fiddled with the seam of his robes, feeling unaccountably giddy. She'd always been the practical one, leaving the flirting and the puppy dog eyes to far more accomplished girls like Ginny and Parvati. "Uncharted waters," she mused.

"Actually talking to each other?" he asked.

"No, not precisely." She squeezed his arm as they walked. "The..." She sketched a distant horizon in the air with her free hand, and then sighed. "Yeah, shagging without strings is far less complicated. But no, I'm caught halfway between distant admirer and... lovestruck, I suppose."

"We'll find our way." Severus was surprised that he felt so optimistic, but he did. Perhaps all those times when Lucius had suggested that his mood would be improved by sex, he had had a point.

"Yes, with a bit of time, I suppose we'll do all right. We both like reading, and research. How do you feel about travelling?"

"I've never been further than Skegness on a family holiday. I'd like to try it."

"Hmm. For some reason I thought for certain you'd travelled all over Europe." They reached the corner and turned into the High Street. Within yards, two people had recognised them both and had quickly averted their eyes. She glanced up at her companion to find him scowling at them, encouraging them to pass by without a word.

"I always had other priorities," he replied, looking back to her, his frown fading. "And other commitments."

"No longer," she murmured, pulling him close. "One commitment now." She hoped the words contained the depth of the sentiment.

"Yes, indeed. And a better commitment than in the past. One I intend to enjoy keeping."

"I certainly hope so. I'd hate to think you'd grow tired of your treatments, bored of your contractual obligations." He could hear the smirk in her voice.

"It seems unlikely, but ask me again in another twenty years or so." They walked along the High Street, Severus glaring at passing strangers to ensure that they were left in peace, and occasionally stopping to look in windows. He kept a hold on her at all times, unwilling to be separated for more than a brief moment.

She watched his reflection, meeting his gaze as she covered her grin with a hand. "I won't be able to stay in government service, you know. Aside from the politics, which I loathe, I have to submit to Veritaserum once a month to maintain my clearance, and I find myself unwilling to risk that any longer."

"There are potions you can take to block it. I used to brew it for Lucius, for obvious reasons. He tells me that you can lie without limit under its influence." His lips twitched. "I think being out from the Ministry's influence is a good thing, but I would want you to have choices in that respect." He knew, too well, what it was like to have none.

"I'd rather not lie. I'm horrible at it. And besides, sooner or later they'll start to suspect me of spying for the enemy. It's the way they're built."

"And if they have to invent an enemy, they will do." He shivered. He could see the consequences of that for both of them too well. "What will you do? I assume you have a plan."

She walked a bit without answering him. Eventually, as they turned the corner and headed into the market square, she answered. "Ever fancy running a book shop?"

"I hadn't really thought of the future. I hadn't really expected to live that long," he said softly. "And I've been too busy sorting out the little inconvenience that I've caused the Ministry to even think about what happens next. Is that what you have in mind?"

"Well..." She took a deep breath, leaning close to him. "I know this little place in York. It's small, but it does quite the mail order business, what with the Internet what it is these days."

"You do have a plan." He smirked. "Now why doesn't that surprise me? Tell me more."

"It's not a plan really. I just know the gentleman who owns it, and he's been looking for a buyer for years now. I never thought that I'd be in a position to make an offer. I mean, not that I'd propose to spend your settlement before it's even cleared the bank."

"So I fund this experiment, do I?"

"Not all of it, no. I have enough for half." She took a step back to regard him. "Does the idea appeal to you in the least?"

"I think... yes." The thought of having something to do, somewhere to belong, being useful without being used was heady. "We would be partners?"

"I would hope so, yes."

"Working together?"

She grinned, nodding. "We could even switch the sign to 'closed' at the lunch hour. There's a flat above the shop that comes with it."

"There could be breakfast in bed in the mornings."

"There could. And tea all through the day. It does have an established Muggle client base, but I think you and I could manage that, as well as adding some magical texts, in the back room say."

"Very well." He nodded, then took her arm again. "There would have to be a binding arrangement between us."

Her brow furrowed. "I thought there already was."

"That refers to matters of a personal nature. When it comes to binding up galleons, different rules apply. It would have to be marriage or nothing, I feel."

Hermione faltered, almost tripped. "I'm sorry?"

"Marriage." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "An engagement perhaps."

"Severus, are you asking me to marry you?"

"Erm, yes. If you want to. I'm not some floozy you can lure into bed and business, you know."

She glanced around and pulled him into a doorway, standing face to face with him. "And I'm not - well that's not right, I am a hopeless romantic, but that doesn't mean you can lure me with - I mean, I know they're not empty promises, I do." She was shaking now, babbling.

"No one can say we haven't known each other long enough. You've seen me at my worst; I've seen you at your best. It's not much more commitment than going into business together, and living together, and all the other promises we made last night. It might only be a piece of paper, but it's one I want. I want to do something properly for once."

"Yes, but..." She gripped the lapels of his robe, searching for words that refused to come.

"I'll take that as acquiescence then." He moved closer, pressing her against the door, and kissed her, hard, putting into that kiss all he couldn't say in words.

She held tight to him and returned the kiss, happy tears wetting her cheeks. When she could breathe again, she murmured, "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. All of you."

"That's settled then."

"Bastard."

"That's not quite right, Hermione. That's Your Bastard, in future."

"I'll call you whatever I like," she purred, kissing him again. "Sir."

He leaned into the kiss, a hand on her shoulder, and the other one dropping down to hold her arse tightly. "There's a certain dichotomy between that assertion, and the title you give me. And one that should see you spanked soundly later."

She bit back a moan, her hands weaving in his hair. "We should go back to the room, I think."

"Yes," he said, drawing the word out. "I don't mind an al fresco dalliance, but not one in clear sight of the road."

"Now," she said, pushing him back and barely straightening her robes before she took his hand and set out at a brisk pace, that only slowed, and that briefly, when they nearly cannoned into someone.

Severus looked up, ready to glare, to find himself staring into cool, grey and familiar eyes. "Lucius?!

"Good morning, Severus." Lucius cast a quizzical gaze over Hermione. "You seem to be heading off somewhere in a hurry - no crisis, I hope."

"Not at all," Severus said coolly. "In fact, you can be the first to congratulate me. I've just got engaged to Hermione."

Hermione covered her huge grin with a hand and held on to Severus' arm. "We're going to be married," she said, as if the words would make it feel less like a dream.

"Good god." Lucius looked shocked, and then organised his face into an expression of suitably bland neutrality. "Congratulations, indeed. This is fast work."

"Nonsense," Hermione said, a touch on the defencive. "We've known each other for years."

"But the attachment between you can only have been of recent formation." Lucius was looking a little wild round the eyes.

Hermione looked to Severus, both hands holding one of his as if he were her only connection to reality.

"I believe the technical expression is _coup de foudre_." Severus smirked.

"I'm sure I can think of other words," Lucius replied, adding swiftly, in response to Severus' scowl, "such as a matter for celebration, of course."

"Oh there will be celebrating. Into the wee hours of the morning." Hermione lifted her chin, overtaken with a fierce indignation. "Not every story ends in tears, Mr. Malfoy."

"Well, I would ask to join you, but I gather it's going to be a private affair. You must allow me to buy you some champagne at some later date." Lucius cocked his head, looking amused.

"Bloody right." Severus didn't smile in return.

"Mmm, I love champagne. Severus, I think it's time. You'll forgive us, Mr. Malfoy. If he doesn't get his treatment, he gets very ill-tempered." Hermione gave him her sweetest, most cutting smile.

"Anything you can do to sweeten his temper will be much appreciated," Lucius replied. Severus swung round and glared at him, but he only laughed. "Go on, you can quarrel with me later. Don't keep a lady waiting."

"Git," Severus said, but smiled in return, a little reluctantly. "Even Lucius is capable of having a good idea every once in a while, like a stopped clock."

"Well, he is the one that brought you back to Hogwarts, so in a way, we're in his debt. Much as it galls me to say." Hermione resumed her course back to the hotel, chewing on her lower lip as she navigated the crowd.

"Hah! After all I did for Draco, he's the one paying off a debt to me, so if he comes oiling up to you looking for a favour of any sort, you tell him to bugger off. And then tell me, and I'll tell him to bugger off."

"Not that I need your help in telling to a Malfoy to go to hell, but thank you. Was that you being protective of me back there? Or was I imagining things?"

Severus looked at her through narrowed eyes. "You might say that."

She gave him an incalculable look. "I would think it's part of a husband's duties." She turned up the short street behind the hotel, her cheeks flushed. "To be protective of his wife."

"It's also his privilege to be as rude as he likes to someone who has the audacity to proposition his wife in front of his nose. On either count, it's a delight to be rude to Lucius."

Hermione pushed open the service entrance of the hotel and drew him through it, pausing only for a moment to ask, "Even if it means being gallant to your wife?"

"I," he said, thickly, pushing her against the wall, "will take whatever advantage I can." He kissed her hard, using the weight of his body to pin her where he wanted her.

Without hesitation, she met him with equal force, pulling him close, one hand fisted in the lapel of his robe, the other snaking around his neck. The first word out of her mouth when they surfaced wasn't his given name. "Bastard," she gasped, breathing hard.

"Sweet talker." He kissed her again, briefly, a mere bussing of lips, then added, "Bed? Or at least, a more private wall than this."

"Yes, please," she murmured, still kissing him even as he moved away. She took his hand again, and this time, let him lead them up the back stair to the room.

It was only when they got there that he realised that the key was downstairs. He tried an Accio, whilst still affectionately caressing Hermione's arse, but the bloody thing was obviously charmed to resist such charms, to prevent people sneaking off without paying the bill. "Bugger," he said.

And then, "Fuck."

And then he let go of Hermione long enough to cast an unlocking spell. It was unfortunate for others that he was sufficiently distracted to cast it over the whole Inn, so that all the doors sprang open at once. Hermione tried not to laugh and failed spectacularly, quickly dragging Severus into the room as heads poked out into the hall.

"Get in here!" She laughed as she kissed him, gasping as he pushed her back against the wall.

"This wall looks private enough, wouldn't you say?" he said, his voice deep and breathy. "And sturdy enough."

She nodded, her fingertips feathering through his hair. She sighed when his hand snaked between them, inching her skirt higher and higher with the slow stroke of his fingers. Later she would wonder if they remembered to shut the door, or if someone else had come along and shut it for them. At that moment, her entire awareness closed down to the strength and weight of his body, and the intoxicating rush of his proximity.

He reached the hem, sent his fingers burrowing beneath her skirt, and closed on the warm, firm flesh of her thigh. She gave a shuddering sigh. "I seem to recall some insurrection earlier," he said.

"Mmm? How so?"

He chuckled in her ear, a dark, rich sound. "I can't really remember, but it won't stop me extracting satisfaction for it."

"Bastard." The word sounded more like a benediction than an insult. She tipped her head back, baring her throat to him. "Take your privilege, then, but understand, I reserve the right to do the same."

"You intend to rule with a rod of iron? Quashing all rebellion?" He lipped along the lines of her neck, teeth gently grazing her skin.

"No," she gasped. "Though ruling the 'rod of iron' is central to my plans." Her knee rose as he lifted it along the outside of his thigh. "Besides, I rather like you rebellious."

"Ah, you say that now, but what of the future? When I resist the firm hand you bring to bear on me?"

"All the more reason to, oh yes, discipline you." Her hands clenched in his hair as a frisson went through her.

"I think I see the flaw in both our plans." He pushed against her, letting a little of his weight come to bear. "There really isn't any incentive to be good, is there? Which is a relief for both of us, I'm sure."

"Absolutely." She nipped at his lower lip, a wicked smile on her face. He remembered that smile as the same expression she'd worn that day in his office, grinning up at him, cheeks flushed, the scent of her teasing his nose as it was just now. "Maybe you need to serve a detention or two, Mister Snape."

"Yes, headmistress. Though we were talking about your insurrection, not mine, and I refuse to be distracted."

"Then shut up and kiss me - husband." She didn't wait for his response, exerting her strength to draw him down to her. "Mine."

"Not yet, but soon," he replied, contrary to the last. "I'll be generous and kiss you anyway."

She snorted, but had no chance to say anything as he kissed her, tongue sliding into her mouth as she tried to speak. Her protests dissolved into an appreciative moan. Even through her clothes, his touch burned her skin like white phosphorus in water. She broke the kiss and hissed, "Claimed you already. The rest is just paperwork, remember?" She caught his wrists and whispered beneath her breath.

Too late, he felt the pull of her magic, powerful and insistent, drawing his arms over his head, binding his hands together. She slipped to the floor as he was raised upright.

"I said you were tricksy," he said, eyes glittering. "That you want watching."

She kept her hands on his chest, undoing the buttons of his robes, pushing them apart to brazenly caress the bare skin of his chest. Her voice singsonged, "Iron fist in a velvet glove, tired of playing games, my love." She leaned up to kiss him at the last words, repeating them in a low, hungry mantra as she slipped out of her clothes. Wearing nothing but a grin, she guided him, still suspended by his wrists, to the centre of the room. She eyed the room's writing desk, hooking the armless chair with her foot so that it caught the backs of his knees and made him sink down.

"So I see." He tried for airy and amused, but he was too interested in what she was going to do to him. "And now what?"

"Your heart rate is elevated, and your pupils are dilated." She stood before him, bent at the waist, brushing his hair back from his brow, nuzzling his cheek. She ran her hands up his arms to his wrists, and he felt the pull of her magic shift. His hands came down and were bound at his sides. "And your cock seems to be rather curious about my intentions as well." He felt her fingertips graze the tops of his thighs.

"All of me is always interested in what you're doing," he said, eyes fixed on her fingers as they stroked along his legs.

"Just as I am fixated on your every move, your every breath." She sank to the floor, parting his knees, and bent to lay a series of chaste kisses along the inside of his thighs, each kiss ascending towards her ultimate goal.

Severus couldn't find anything clever to say to that. He was too busy anticipating where her mouth would go next, and hoping that she would move further and faster. Every kiss made him ache all the way to the root. Just watching her, the way she savoured touching him, the way she moved, all made him throb until it felt like his whole lower half was erect. The first brush of her lips made him hiss, and she didn't relent, flicking her tongue over the sensitive skin and making him jerk from the intensity of it. "Fuck, woman."

"Yes, love. But not quite yet. I don't think you're quite ready yet."

"I am. I am ready."

"No, I don't think so." She drew her tongue over the eye, languid and slow, until he was trembling. "Mmm, almost." Her hands encircled him, pulling him away from his body and examining him with an appreciative eye. He cursed again and she smiled, standing and moving his knees together so she could straddle his thighs. "I want to take my time with you this time." She stood with her knees apart, her breasts bobbing just out of the reach of his mouth. "So don't come until I tell you to, or I shall be quite put out. Alright?"

He nodded, not sure that his voice would come out as anything more than a squeak. Somewhere, a small part of him was aware that he had never made himself this vulnerable to anyone before, but a rather larger part of him was intent on what she would do next.

She surprised him, something he'd discover that she was very good at doing over the coming years. She caught his eye and stroked a hand down between her breasts, across the curving plane of her belly, and pressed a finger into her own cunt, gasping quietly as she did so. "See what you do to me?" Her fingers glistened as she reached up to paint his lips with her essence, filling his head with the musky scent of her.

And then she was grasping the shaft of his cock, lifting herself up and watching intently as she drew him along her cleft. Her gaze never left his face, devouring his expression as she teased herself before finally beginning to lower herself along his length.

"Fuck." It wasn't original, he thought, but it was heartfelt. And this time she took it as instruction and began to move, slowly, more slowly than he would like, but at last he was getting some friction where he wanted it as he slid home into her, watching as her eyes closed and her lips parted slightly.

She worked her way down his length in ever deeper strokes until she was seated flush against him. The last inch she wound her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. He could feel her soft breasts crushed against his chest, feel her cunt ripple and clamp around him. It was like drowning in ambrosia, and even though his knees ached, he couldn't feel anything but her body melded against him as she began to rock.

"It's not about power," she breathed, feeling him shift and strain against the charm that held his arms as she rose up and sank back down again. "It's about making you hold still, so you'll pay attention." Her body was a relentless tide of sensation. "It's about making you focus on the pleasure, to the exclusion of all else." He felt her kiss the side of his neck, her fingertips stroking his nape.

"You've got my attention," he gasped. "I just want to be able to touch you."

The tone of his voice brought a smile to her face. "Say please."

His answering smile was sharp and edged. "Please, Hermione, I want to touch you. I want to put my mouth on your nipples and suck on them, I want to rub my fingers over your clit till you ask for mercy, and I want to take hold of your hips and make you ride me hard."

She moaned aloud at his words, but made no move to release him. She closed her eyes and shook her head before kissing him gently, still undulating gently along his length. "I want to own you," she whispered, her voice shaky, "just as thoroughly as you already own me." There were more words, spoken too quietly for him to hear.

"Please, Hermione," he said again. "Please."

"Please," she echoed, her rational mind gone far down the rabbit hole. Her words were barely audible, command and plea intertwined. "Promise me you won't rush to the end."

"I promise." He'd have promised anything at that point.

She drew a breath, kissing along his jaw, and exhaled the words to release his wrists, her fingertips digging into his shoulders, as if she expected him to explode beneath her.

He moved his hands to her hips, closing round them possessively and holding tight. "Slow," he said. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

She nodded, her head falling back, mouth open as she moved slowly and surely, grinding out a rhythm against him. Her posture thrust her plump breasts in his face, and he could, at last, suck a pebbled nipple into his mouth and work it with his tongue. She groaned, a long drawn out moan of desire. The sound vibrated straight down to the root of him, cycling back up his spine into the vault of his skull.

He tried to remember how to breathe. Something about Occlumency exercises flitted across his awareness, resisting the pressure of his thoughts, denying his body. She rose and fell against him, warmth and softness, guileless affection, and the more precious to him, trusting him. There was no denying what she poured over him.

He faltered for a second, aware that he had little to offer in return. He moved again, filled with determination that he would do all he could to prevent her realising it, do all that he could to keep her his.

She felt his grip tighten, gasping as he pressed deep. Her toes barely touched the floor, leaving her only able to rock against him, which was fine. The smallest amount of motion was all that was required to keep her balanced on the razor's edge. She pulled his mouth from her breast and kissed him, resting her forehead against his. "So close," she breathed. "So. Close."

"Is that a complaint?" he rasped. "Or praise."

Shaking, her hand disengaged from his neck and her fingertips covered his mouth. Her lips followed, murmuring too low for him to hear at first, and then just a bit louder. His name. Over and over, a mantra to her control, even as it started to slip away.

He stroked into her again, fingers curling round her tight enough to leave marks, wanting to bury himself in her and never leave now that he had found a home with her. He wanted to ask her whether she was there yet, but all that came out was a croaked, "There."

She held her breath, willing time to stop, even as she felt herself tip over the edge. She sucked in a lungful of air, released it with a shuddering cry against his neck. Her whole body quaked with the intensity of her orgasm. She almost lost her grip, her hands and fingers going numb as all sensation coalesced between her thighs. Some how she managed to exhale, "Now."

He had no breath to make any reply, and no part of his brain was functioning enough to compose one. He summoned up the last of his strength, and sank into her as deep as he could as sensation streaked along his spine and thundered in his head. In the distance, he heard a voice roaring, and dimly realised it was his own cry, ringing in the small room.

He rested against her, his hands stroking and caressing her back as she shivered through the aftershocks, not willing for the experience to end, wanting to keep her wound round him for as long as possible. Not like before, with the paid women, who he hadn't wanted to touch afterwards. Hermione was different, softer, more challenging, infinitely delightful and his. All his.

She'd agreed to marry him. The thought tumbled around his head, the intellectual equivalent of an orgasm.

Hermione must have felt it too, as she moaned aloud, another ripple of pleasure blazing through her. This wasn't a one night stand anymore. She felt a rush of intense emotion that brought tears to her eyes. She'd never come so hard in her life, and this man was to share her bed, every night. For the rest of her life, if she was lucky. "Eighth, is it eighth?" she managed, still out of breath. "Eighth point of agreement. Every room in the house needs a chair like this one." She laughed.

"I agree." He laughed too, which was more strange than making love, in many ways. "At this rate we shall be spending our lives in a state of connubial bliss, we agree on so much."

"There are worse fates," she sighed, resting her forehead against his. "If I said 'I love you' in this - glorious haze of post-coital bliss, would you believe me?"

"I'd like to, oh how I'd like to, but I'd believe it more if you said it after the sixteenth time I've left the loo seat up, or left my socks on the bedroom floor." His lips twisted in a wry smile. "Just as you'd believe me more when I say it over the breakfast table, before tea, and whilst you're ignoring me to read some book or other. Then it will be real, won't it?"

She nodded, smiling broadly, no longer tryi

g to stem the tears that wet her cheeks. "Bastard," she said.

"Your bastard," he said, and held her close.

And she believed him.


	3. Chapter 3

The last day of his tenure found him in a particularly foul mood. Not only did he have to deal with smug Ministry officials and the pitying looks of Minerva, but he'd woken to cold sheets beside him. Apparently Hermione had left for work in the early hours of the morning. She'd left the kettle spelled to be hot, at least, but what he missed the most was her annoyingly addictive habit of sneaking beneath the covers and waking him with a mind-blowing orgasm. It was amazing the things that one could get used to in just a few days time.

His mood improved for a brief moment when she appeared at the entrance to his office, wearing the same prim suit she'd worn the day she'd "negotiated" his resignation and a pair of stunning high heels that did amazing things to her arse. The only thing that stopped him from commenting on the fact was the presence of Percy Weasley, hot on said heels, congratulating him on Snape's new business endeavour and wishing him the most promising of futures - as long as it didn't involve Hogwarts.

"Your condescension is unnecessary, Weasley," Severus said. "Your silence, however, would be most welcome."

Percy drew himself up to his full height - which wasn't much - and glared at Snape. "If you want to be that way..."

Snape smirked and nodded. "I do."

"...then clear your desk, and be out of here."

"Percy!" Hermione said. "You can't speak to the Headmaster like that."

"He's no longer Headmaster." Percy put his fingers into the pockets of his waistcoat, and swayed on his feet, aping the current Minister's style.

"I am until midnight," said Snape. "You should pay attention to the contracts you negotiate. There might be all sorts of hidden clauses."

Hermione choked back a laugh.

Percy shot her a glare. "Miss Granger, I think we should be going. Get your things."

"I wasn't aware that we had finished, Percy. We've still got to..."

"I said we should be going, and I will not tell you again."

Snape cocked an eyebrow and took a step back as Miss Granger's face went still. "Mr. Weasley. I think now would be a good time to inform you of my resignation. I have six weeks of holiday pay coming, I believe. If you could be so good as to have them deposit that in my Gringott's account. Personnel has all the pertinent details."

Percy gaped like a carp.

"No, no. Don't even start. There's a good lad. Severus?"

Severus' smile broadened. "My dear, would you care to join me in a little celebration of our freedom?"

"I'd be delighted."

"It'll just be a select gathering. You. Me. The portraits. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Hermione nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. The portraits, who usually pretended to doze in their frames, sat up straight and wide eyed.

"Mr Weasley, however, is most distinctly unwelcome." Severus fixed him with a hard stare, the sort that would have had Neville bursting into flames, let alone tears.

Percy didn't move, but watched goggle-eyed as Severus swept the contents of his desk onto the floor. Hermione couldn't contain the appreciative noise that escaped her throat. She took Severus outstretched hand and turned to look at Percy.

"Leave. Now." She thrust her chin at the door and was gratified to see him flinch and then flee. When she turned back, Severus was casually reholstering his wand.

The door closed with a resounding thud and any portraits who had actually been asleep awoke to see Miss Hermione Granger, ex-Ministry official, stepping into the welcoming circle of the Headmaster's arms. "I wore these shoes just for you," she murmured. "And he spent all morning sending me to and fro to get him paperwork. It didn't occur to me until just this moment that he was watching my arse the whole time."

"I'm sure he's regretting crossing you now. He looked like a startled rabbit." Severus kissed her, long and lingeringly, tongue teasing her lips. "Enough of him. I missed you this morning."

A murmur passed through the portraits. This was gossip, and of the highest quality. The Headmaster had a lover, and a young and pretty one at that. Half of them tutted, and the other half leaned forward in their frames to get a better look at the shoes, and the effect they had on Hermione's skirt.

"I missed you too," she said softly, barely breaking away from their kiss to speak.

"And the delay in administering the Snape cure has made me very short-tempered," he replied.

"Ah, I see." She brushed his hair back from his face, studying his dark eyes for a long moment before trailing her hand down to the buttons at the front of his robes. "You promised me a nice, slow fuck over the Headmaster's desk." She savoured the words in her mouth, almost as much as she savoured the collective gasp from the gallery above. "Were you speaking in jest?"

"In deadly earnest, my love."

She closed her eyes and smiled, fingers working his wool buttons through their closures. Someone else gasped when he undid the buttons of her blouse, exposing her best black brassiere.

"They're going to shag!"

"Oh did you just catch on to that? Now shush! I haven't seen a girl's --"

"You can't honestly think that I will stand for this."

"Shut up, Albus. This happens maybe twice a century."

"I don't care if you are a founder, I will not --"

"If you all don't shut up, I will hex the lot of you." Severus growled. Silence fell. The portraits believed Snape was the sort of person to do something like that, and had a nasty range of hexes at his disposal, particularly when interrupted. "Good. Now, you do remember that you are all subject to the Sub Rosa charm, and that nothing that happens here can ever be repeated outside this room?" Severus asked.

The portraits nodded, tight-lipped and anxious, full of anticipation.

"Now," he said, turning back to Hermione. "I believe I was here, before we were so rudely interrupted." He moved closer, mouth on the curve of her neck. "And the next portrait to talk, gets a trip to the fourth floor corridor with a view of the dull grey wall." There was a general murmur, a sigh, some shushing and a frog-like gulp.

Hermione tried her best wicked grin on, but it lost something in the glow of her bright red cheeks. "Are they bound by the charm after you leave office?" Her hands slipped into his hair, and she whimpered as he nipped at her skin.

"Oh, yes," he said, teeth scraping along the chords of her neck. "If they know what's good for them." There was a murmur from the portraits, half-appreciative and half-disapproving, but the disapproving voices were quickly shushed.

"Every single one of them is envying me now, wishing they were here with you." He kissed her, slowly at first, and then his fingers tightened round her waist and he pulled her tight against him, kissing her with a rare ferocity.

She gasped, her own grip tightening on his shoulders, her head falling back, her eyes shut tight. "Severus." His name had become her mantra in their moments of passion. She felt his teeth against her collarbone and moaned.

"But it's not them, it's me. For once, I'm the lucky one." He shifted his hands along her ribcage, rising up to cup her breasts, the lace of her bra soft against his fingers. "And they can all see how lucky I am, and this memory is going to have to last them for another hundred years or so. When the next Headmaster takes over, they'll be looking at this desk and thinking of you."

"Of us," she murmured, her hands moving to the buttons at his throat. "Of you and I, engaged in unsavoury and lascivious acts. Right here." She caressed down the front of his chest, seeking and finding the gap, and slipping beneath it to stroke his hardening cock. "Tell me, Headmaster."

"We're going to fuck," he said, the words stark and harsh. "And whilst it may be lascivious, there'll be nothing unsavoury about it. Do you think we should recap, for all who missed the performance last time?"

Hermione nodded, still pink, and not quite able to find her voice.

"We didn't kiss last time," he continued. "An oversight I intend to correct."

If what Severus did was kissing, then she'd never been kissed before. Never had anyone paid such attention to the smallest details of her lips, touching and caressing with mouth and tongue, the gentlest of contact alternating with harder, firmer pressure, his hands never straying from her shoulders.

When he lifted his head, eyes dark and intent on her face, she was breathless and aching for more.

"There was so much else we didn't do," he said, voice deep and low. "I'd regret it, if I hadn't a chance to put that right."

"Make it worth my while, then," she replied, challenge in her voice.

He nuzzled along her neck, planting wet open-mouthed kisses along her collar bone, his hands gripping her waist. The only sound in the room was Severus' ragged breathing and Hermione's appreciative murmurs as he found a particularly sweet spot.

He reached the hollow between her breasts, and she arched into him with a groan. "Oh god, yes, just there." He smiled against her skin. She could feel it, the way his mouth kicked up at the corners and it made her want to laugh. She would have done, but she thought their audience would have misunderstood. Nothing should shadow their coming together.

He turned his head to one side, and ran his tongue along the lace edge of her bra. She moaned again, then moved, her hands shifting towards the fastening of her bra. He gripped her wrists, not tightly, but hard enough to hold them still.

"Now, you wouldn't want to rush, would you? And deny these old perves the chance to see this done properly."

She could see, over his shoulder, the bright eyes of the portraits fixed on them. "I think they'd rather I took it off."

Several heads nodded.

"I, however, wouldn't," he said. "You shouldn't try and usurp my prerogative like that."

The portraits groaned, but groaned quietly, mindful of the threat of eviction.

"I have an idea." Hermione leaned forward, standing on her tip toes whisper into his ear.

He laughed, a rich, dark sound in the heated atmosphere of the room. "And such a good idea it is too."

He moved to her side, hands trailing around her waist, circling until he stood behind her. He pulled her closer, until there was no space between them, her body hard up against his. "Miss Granger has something she'd like to show you," he said to the portraits. "Take a good look, gentlemen."

He stripped back the sides of her blouse, slowly and deliberately. The fabric bunched on her shoulders, until he slid it off and down her arms to leave her standing before their audience in her bra.

He waited for a moment, allowing the portraits to look their fill. To some of them, raised in an era when an ankle was shocking, the sight of a skimpy black bra would be excitement enough. Others, those raised in Slytherin house, would be expecting rather more.

They would not be disappointed.

His hands cupped her breasts from beneath, his fingertips teasing along the top edge leading down to the hook in the front. Severus undid the clasp with excruciating languor, sliding each hook free from its eye in turn, then cupping the lacy fabric as the closure parted. The portraits held their breath as Hermione lay her head back on his shoulder. He hummed his appreciation as he teased them, showing a centimetre of flesh at a time. Someone cursed softly as her nipples appeared.

Hermione closed her eyes, whimpering softly as he undressed her. The cool air made her nipples stand up strong, and his touch gave her goose bumps. After an eternity, the offending lingerie fell to the floor, unnoticed, all eyes in the room fixed on the rosy curves of her breasts.

Severus' left hand lay flat across her stomach and he cupped her right breast in his hand, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger. "Isn't she beautiful?" he asked. "And she's mine."

Behind her, the fingers of his free hand sought out the zip at the back of her skirt and set it in motion. A moment later, with a smooth brush of his hands, it was slipping over her hips and pooling around her ankles. She gasped and his grip tightened on the bare skin of her hip. She wore thigh high silk stockings and garters, but not a stitch of fabric covered the neatly trimmed thatch between her thighs.

"If you close your eyes, love, you can't see the way they're looking at you," he said into her ear. His voice was so deep, it felt like dark honey poured directly on her brain. "How much they wish they could be me, so they could do this..." He moved his hand from her hip, round, down, ghosting across her skin, to rest tentatively over her mound.

Her lips parted in a breathy sigh as she opened her eyes, raising heavy lids, to see a gaggle of Headmasters staring open-mouthed.

"They want to touch you, to feel how wet you are, to put their mouths on you and taste you. All the things that a portrait can't do. That I can and will do."

Hermione shuddered as he slid one long finger between her folds, and stroked her clit. One portrait had gone beet red, and was tugging furiously at his high collar, practically passing out with the tension. She felt a fleeting moment of sympathy for him, but it quickly passed.

She moaned in protest when he moved his hand away, then whimpered when he brought his hand to his mouth and licked her essence from his fingers. "I want more of that," he said. "On the desk."

She didn't move at first, not sure what he had in mind, but he put his hands on her hips to move her along, lifting her gently up onto the desk's glossy surface. She kept her knees closed, out of habit, and a lingering sense of embarrassment.

Severus stroked the silky fabric sheathing her thighs, bending forward to kiss her lips once more as his hands came to rest on her knees. "Open," he whispered.

"Say please," she said, the words coming out a bit less confident than she'd hoped.

"Mine," he growled, his hands pressing between her knees and prying them apart.

Hermione gasped, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

She groaned as Severus dropped to his knees before her, and then there was nothing in her thoughts but anticipation of where his tongue would go next. Not where she wanted, she knew that. No, not at first, that would be too easy.

"You'd lower yourself before a Muggleborn?" Salazar said. He'd learned the hard way that the Headmaster didn't tolerate the other epithets that Slytherin preferred.

"My dear Salazar, if you never tried this, then you were a bigger fool than I thought. Better to kiss her thighs than the robes of your admirer."

"Severus," Hermione pleaded, looking down into his dark eyes. Her hand came out to stroke the raven's wing of his hair. She whimpered as his hand stroked down the back of her thigh, lifting her leg to his shoulder. "No politics during lovemaking."

"No insults will be tolerated either," he said. "Or, Founder or not, he'll burn. He should be rather more appreciative of the show being put on."

There was a murmur from the portraits that signalled things could get rather ugly if Salazar messed things up for the rest of them. Salazar crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, but did not look away.

"Manners are so important, don't you think, Miss Granger," he continued, smirking. "Which is why I'd like to hear you say please."

"Please," she hissed. "Just ignore them!" She tucked her errant curls behind an ear, and fumbled behind her, trying to find a hand hold. Another brush of his mouth and she shuddered, falling back to rest on her elbows.

"Close enough, I suppose." He ran his tongue along the crease of her thigh, close enough that he could taste the rich scent of her. He shifted a little, planting baby kisses between her thighs, but never landing quite where she expected, or where she wanted. "And close enough is good enough, isn't it?"

"Severus, please," she answered in a long drawn-out moan, no longer paying attention to anything he said. His hands stroked along the silk stockings, teasing up over the lace to caress the pale skin of her thigh. She could feel the tickle of his hair as he bent over her, could feel the heat of his breath ruffling through her damp curls. Her hips rose off the desk, but he danced away, laughing beneath his breath. She swore, creatively and indelicately, drawing a mixed reaction from the gallery.

She dug her heel into his shoulder, hard against him and then again when he made no move. "There's being a bastard," she whined. "And there's this. It's too much."

Deliberately, he moved forward, dipping his head. It felt like he was moving in slow motion. Hermione was preternaturally aware of the shift of his hair against her legs, his hot breath fanning along her skin, and then the sharp sensation of his mouth as he took her clit into his mouth in a long, sucking bite.

The murmur of the gallery rose to match the swell of her voice. One gentleman clutched his heart, another peered through his fingers as she fell back. Another stack of papers gave way as she scrabbled to hold onto the edge of the desk.

White-knuckled, she closed her eyes and focused on the feel of him, hands gripping her thighs, lips and tongue painting fire along her nerves, drawing a veil of sensation over her until there was nothing but the pulsing white brilliance pooled in her cunt. He held her there, on the edge, until she was gasping, pleading to come, her foot beating a tattoo on his back.

"Fuck! If you stop," she said, in between gasps, "I swear, I will think of something, some way of paying you back!"

"And if I let you come?"

"The same," she replied, and managed a faint smirk, before her head fell back again.

Her smile promised so much, and he was eager enough himself, burning to turn her over and slide home, that he turned to his work with a will. She was molten honey against his mouth, her frame shuddering with his every touch, completely at his mercy. His tongue flickered across her clit and he groaned as she stiffened, arching up hard in his embrace, gasping his name.

Hermione struggled to breathe as the orgasm rolled over and through her, her eyes rolling wildly as she writhed. Dimly she was aware of his hands stroking her, his gentle kisses on her hip, his fingers teasing where he knew she needed to be filled. She heard a voice pleading. It was her own, uncaring of any audience, awash in desire for him. He placed one last sucking kiss and she sobbed as she peaked and tumbled back to earth.

She lay there, limp and satisfied, eyes fixed on Severus' face as he looked at her, eyes soft and gleaming. Her leg slipped from its place on his shoulder, briefly resting hooked round his elbow, then slipping free to the desk.

She raised her arms to him, and he went to her, pulled down into a kiss that lingered, soft and subtle, and utterly different to the wild energy that had been between them just moments before. Both of them sighed softly, utterly lost to the world in the embrace.

That is, until one of the portraits coughed. And then another. And another.

Hermione laughed underneath her breath. "I think they're saying you're not done yet, Professor."

"Bloody right," said one of the female portraits. "Let's have something for the ladies to admire. Fair's fair."

Severus' eyes widened, and Hermione wanted to giggle, torn between anticipation and amusement at his realisation that he was going to be called upon to perform.

"That's right," she said. "Fair's fair."

Severus shrugged out of his jacket, and allowed it to fall to the ground. His shirt was fine lawn, and close-fitting, showing his slim chest.

Hermione's hands stroked over his pectorals, slipping up to his collar, taking her time undoing the buttons at his throat. His hands came to rest on her wrists as she worked. She leaned forward to kiss the newly revealed bare skin, running her tongue along the hollow of his throat. "Give them a show, won't you?" Her words were dark and sweet, and meant only for his ears.

She tugged the shirt free of his trousers, hands burrowing underneath to find the soft skin across his flanks, and trace the strong line of his ribcage up and along to his nipples. He made a noise, not quite a moan, but appreciative. She flicked her fingers across them again, slightly harder, using her nails, and the noise he made then was louder.

She smiled against his skin, and gently took them between thumb and forefinger, pinching until his hands gripped her arms tight and his breath hissed out between his teeth. She soothed the aching peaks with open-mouthed kisses, laving the sensitised nubs as her hands slid down his torso to tease along the waistband of his trousers.

His voice was a delightful rumble in her ears, somewhere between purr and growl, and his hands alternately gripped and stroked her. She moaned as he slid a hand into her hair and took a firm handful of her curls, tipping her head back so that he could look down into her face. She could see the flush in his cheeks, could feel the heat of his gaze like the warmth of a bonfire. All she could manage was a single syllable, "Yes."

"Yes," he said, echoing her words back to her, but in a deeper register that she could feel in her bones. Swiftly her fingers scrabbled at the buttons of his fly, and then, when she couldn't manage to free them, he batted her hands out of the way and did it himself. She pushed his trousers down, and he stepped back, shuffling his feet, making sure his shoes and socks came off first.

The trousers slipped down, freeing his cock. It stood up, hard and flushed, flexing a little with each pulse of blood. The portraits murmured appreciatively, and not all the voices were female. Hermione's hands ghosted over his chest, her chin tipped up, her throat exposed as he took two steps around the corner of the desk to her side, never letting her go. "Lay your head down," he said, guiding her to her lay on her side. She brought a hand up to act as a pillow, the other snaking out to caress his cock.

"Let them see," she whispered, urging him to turn ninety degrees.

He did, gloating a little now as she reached for him, her kiss swollen lips parted. "Not too much," he growled. "Still going to fuck you, Miss Granger." His tone was deliberate, and almost feral.

Someone, she thought it might even be Salazar, let out a long groan as she sucked Severus into her mouth. She didn't take him deep, just enough to play lip and tongue round the fleshy head. The next groan was definitely from Severus, long and drawn out. His head was thrown back, eyes half-closed but still fixed on her. He was breathing heavily, deep and slow, determined to hang on to his control.

She heard a man's voice swear at length in Latin, and heard a woman gasp, although not really in shock. She had to turn an eye to look. Slytherin himself had found a comfortable chair in his portrait and had one hand buried in his robes. Hermione raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Severus. He smirked down at her and nodded.

She turned her eyes back to the portrait, her lips still playing over the glistening tip of Severus' cock. "Go on. I want to see, too."

Slytherin bared his teeth at her, but flipped his robes aside to show his own ruddy erection clasped in his fist. He gave a few hard tugs and then just held tight, trembling.

"I take it you don't get much action in here," she whispered, dipping her chin and taking the length of Severus's cock into her throat, pressing her nose into the musk of his pubic hair. No place else on his body did he smell so intensely of his own scent.

A woman's voice groaned this time, and then squeaked. She heard a thump and then distant scrabbling. Two of the portraits had disappeared, but she could hear them, man and woman, grunting and groaning in pleasure. Severus touched her cheek to catch her attention and she laughed in disbelief.

She drew back long enough to say, "I've always wanted to be a bad influence."

"Mmm, I think you've been a wonderful influence," he murmured, his fingertip marking the line of her jaw. His other hand clenched on her arm. "I want you," he growled.

"I want you too," she replied.

There was a sussuration, as the portraits arranged themselves for the final act, and then a murmur of disappointment as Severus moved round to the front of the desk.

"We can't see if you're going to stand there," Salazar protested.

Severus muttered something unflattering under his breath, then reached for his wand. An urgent flick saw a large, gilt framed mirror appear on the wall opposite.

"Miss Granger," Severus said formally, with a wicked glint in his eyes. "If I could trouble you to turn over."

She drew her shoe across his chest as she moved, laughing as he nipped at her ankle, easing it over as she rolled. She wasn't a fashion model, but her Rubenesque curves were perfect in his eyes. From the nape of her neck down the curve of her spine, the delicious plane of her lower back, the swell of her arse, he ran his hands down her body, his cock throbbing now in anticipation.

He watched as she placed her hands flat, rising up her elbows to look at him over her shoulder. Through dark lashes, she watched him as she adjusted her stance, offering herself to him brazenly. Hermione could pull off sex kitten when she wanted to, and he knew that she'd discovered a true weakness of his. Heaven help him in the years to come. "Headmaster, if I could trouble you to fuck me?"

"No trouble at all, my dear," he said.

"If you could just turn a little to the right," asked a female voice behind him. "You've a tight arse, it has to be said, but we'd really like to catch a sight of your cock too. If it's not too much trouble."

"Not that we'd dream of interfering really," said another woman.

Hermione's giggles were brought to a halt when Severus brought his hand down on her rump.

"Oh yes," said Salazar. "Very nice."

"All of you, shut it," Hermione snapped, her cheeks flushed crimson. "Another word and I'll be the one doing the hexing."

"My, my," Severus crooned, smiling down at her. "I seem to have struck a nerve." He brushed his fingertips over the reddening mark on her tush.

She groaned then, and the gallery grew very still. They watched enrapt as he bent forward to lay a kiss on her shoulder.

"Grab the other edge. Go on, stretch. Now, Miss Granger." She tried to breathe, tried not to whimper as she did as instructed. "Yes, there. Like that." Her knuckles were white on the far edge of the desk, and she gasped as she felt his fingertips skim down the cleft of her thighs. "Oh yes, just like that."

Severus couldn't wait any longer. He was curled around her from behind, one hand on the desk, standing between her feet. Just a shift of his hips and he was sliding home. For a glorious moment, the rest of the world fell away.

Hermione sighed as he slowly moved into her, able to relax a little, the tension that had gripped her being eased by the heat of his touch.

"If everyone is quite satisfied," Severus said, voice deep and soft. "Then we will begin."

Hermione could see her face in the mirror opposite, and more than her face. Her breasts were squeezed together between her arms and against the table, and shifted every time Severus thrust home, leisurely at first, savouring the feel of her as she began to respond. She gasped as he gradually increased his pace.

Severus' face was fierce and concentrated, eyes fixed on where their bodies joined.

She spared a quick glance at her audience, and could see Salazar staring at her. He winked, and smirked, his hand in motion again. And there was Dumbledore, who'd been quiet up till then, watching the flex of Severus' buttocks as he moved to and fro. There was a lazy droop to his eyelids and Hermione felt a flare of possession behind her breast bone. Phineas had gone from watching between his fingers to merely watching with his mouth covered. Dilys and a Ravenclaw professor whose name she could never recall were entwined, hands buried beneath robes, only watching the two lovers with half an eye.

And in the reflection, she saw the volcanic, dark gaze of her -- the thought faltered. Her soon-to-be husband. His mouth was open slightly, there was a sheen of sweat at his temples, and she could see the tiniest changes in his expression that meant he was deeply, intently enjoying himself.

Her eyelids fluttered shut. In the end, this was about him and her alone, and nothing to do with their watchers. It had been fun, erotic even, to play out the role of wicked siren, but nothing was as powerful as their bond.

She dropped her head down, her hair rippling around her shoulders, feeling nothing but the way he was filling her, over and over again, pushing hard and deep, hitting the perfect rhythm. He purred, stroking her back with one hand and holding tight to her hip with the other. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of his skin, the heat of his cock, the pleasure he was stoking in her, licking like flames down her thighs, pooling in her belly.

Listening to Severus groan and gasp, she realised she was holding her breath, as if she could hold onto the moment, freeze it in time, live in it for a lifetime. He placed his hand at the base of her spine and spoke to her. "Breathe, love."

She let out her breath, and let go of the moment, shifting on, and losing control. She came in a long, rolling orgasm that seemed to start in the base of her spine and roll along it until it forced itself out of her mouth in a choked groan that turned into Severus' name.

"Oh god," Severus said. "That's it, that's it, yes. Fuck."

She could feel his thighs slapping against the back of her legs as he sped up his movements. His mouth opened wider, his breaths coming in gulps, and a pink flush spread across his chest.

He never looked more beautiful than when he was about to come, stretched out on that edge of sensation, taken out of himself enough to lose all his defensiveness, and allow her to see past his armour to the man beneath.

Another voice gave a strangled cry, and then another, and Hermione felt herself drawn up again into the halo of sensation. Severus thrust deep, so deeply into her, his fingers dug into the flesh of her hips. She felt his entire frame shudder, and joined him, quaking, shouting out her pleasure. She watched his reflection, met his gaze full of affection, the sort of expression that no one would ever imagine he would ever wear, the one that only she was privileged to see.

Only she saw the real Severus Snape. Her, and several other portraits. Perhaps an Obliviate was called for.

Severus stroked his hand along her hip, unable or unwilling to find words.

The portraits were not so reticent. "Not bad, not bad at all," said Salazar. "You can see why he's in the House of the Snake."

"I thought it was over far too soon," Dilys said with a sniff.

"I was perfectly satisfied," Hermione snapped. "Twice, if you must know. You ungrateful buggers."

"I bet Albus wishes he was," Phineas said quietly, but not so quietly that Albus, who had been absentmindedly staring at Severus' arse, didn't hear.

"Oh shut it, you dried up old prune." Albus crossed his robes. "I've seen better in my day."

"I doubt it," Hermione said, wishing she had the trick of arching an eyebrow that Severus had. She caught his hand and lifted herself up into his arms, reaching her hands up to encircle his neck. "Can we continue this at home, my love? I think I need a little -- alone time with you."

"That sounds like a good idea," he replied, and kissed her.

He looked round the room for one last time, sneered at Albus on general principles, and summoned their clothes. "I won't miss this place one bit," he said. "Let's go."

Hermione threw a handful of powder into the floo, announced her address firmly, and then they were gone.

"I notice they didn't bother putting their clothes back on," Salazar said. "I wonder what they're going to do."

"If Albus had kept his mouth shut, then we might have been given a demonstration," Dilys said, narrowing her eyes at Dumbledore "But oh no, he has to be clever and shoot his mouth off."

The other portraits murmured in agreement.

"No tact, these Gryffindors," Phineas said cheerfully. "Now, if I might make a suggestion..."

The new Headmaster was pleased with the warmth of his reception at Hogwarts. Too many teachers had been treated to Snape-style performance reviews to miss him. The children, too, seemed disposed to like the new man, which should have been warning enough that he  
wasn't up to the job.

The only fly in the ointment had been the way the door to his office kept sticking. There were occasions when he had to try the door three or four times before it would open. There was nothing for it but to get the caretaker to look at it.

Filch tried everything. There was magical oil to stop the joints from seizing up, sanding down the door to create a gap round the edge so large that a breeze fairly whistled round the Headmaster's ankles when he could get in his office, and even applying Sybil's advice about feng shui and putting a portrait opposite the door to dispel negative energy.

Privately, the Headmaster thought that having a picture that seemed to be occupied by a sour-faced misery like Albus wasn't likely to dispel any negative energy. The door was stuck more often than not, and he was beginning to wonder if it was some small hex left by his predecessor, but the portraits wouldn't answer any of his questions about the departed Snape.

"It's confidential, you see," Phineas had explained. "An unbreakable geas."

Even Dumbledore wouldn't talk, and looked particularly shifty when asked to explain why he seemed to be living life in exile in the corridor.

At the end of one long day at the end of one weary week he finally snapped and drew his wand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Dumbledore.

"What would you know about it," snapped the Headmaster.

Albus shrugged. "I know enough to know that I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The new Headmaster muttered something under his breath about interfering old codgers and cast the charm. The door opened and he went in with a smirk.

He came out thirty seconds later looking pale.

"Is that even possible?" he asked.

"Obviously," said Albus. "They're doing it."

"I meant if you're alive."

"Ah. Well, yes, you can, but you need a good pint of olive oil."

The Headmaster blinked. "I can get that."

"And it's best if you don't attempt it for the first time without supervision." Albus  
grinned like a man who has found his way back into favour with a set of miserable bastard portraits that had banned him from orgies. "Your wife is very attractive as I recall. And I can assure, you it's an unbreakable geas."


End file.
